


From the Cupboard

by huntersg1rl



Series: From the Dungeons [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Child Abuse, Good Lucius Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Good Severus Snape, Good Slytherins, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mentor Severus Snape, Past Child Abuse, Person of Color Harry Potter, Recovery, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:08:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntersg1rl/pseuds/huntersg1rl
Summary: One conversation goes slightly differently. How much does it change?Features a caring Snape, supportive Malfoys, strong friendships, and Slytherin Harry.**CompleteEdited 3/12/20 (for grammar and spelling only)





	1. Change

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> I'm absolutely in love with fics about Harry in Slytherin, so here's my contribution.
> 
> I'd like to preface this with a warning: Harry, in this, is Indian and, as such, has a different spelling of his name. This appears in the first chapter, but becomes relevant in the second.
> 
> This series will likely be between 4-7 fics, depending on where the characters choose to take me. It's important to note, Voldemort is not the main villain in this series. Dumbledore, technically, is, although it focuses more on Voldemort in this fic, since he still had to be dealt with.
> 
> This deals with abuse. It isn't graphic--none of the violence is--but if that is triggering to you, proceed with caution.
> 
> There is a political hierarchy in this fic that Harry plays a large role in. I did a fair amount of research into his family history to ensure that it all has basis in reality.
> 
> For anyone who is Indian, when it gets to the point that Harry is learning about his heritage, if I've gotten anything wrong, please, point it out so I can correct it. I've attempted to research it as best I can so it's as accurate as possible, but it's not something I have personal knowledge of, so assistance is always appreciated.
> 
> Harry and Draco are eleven in this fic. Eventually, they will end up together. But not this year. Maybe third year? I'm still working that out. I just don't see eleven as an appropriate age to be writing characters as in that way.
> 
> There are passages taken directly from the series, with minor changes in them to fit my purposes. Specifically the conversation at the beginning of this chapter. The first several chapters may end up being edited as the story progresses, but I will try to limit that and will be sure to edit the main summary if that happens.
> 
> Chapter lengths will vary greatly, but this first one is, I hope, about the average for the fic/series (I need to find all my chapter breaks before I can promise that).
> 
> All that being said, this series is purely written for my own satisfaction. It's a lot of things that I want to see in a Slytherin!Harry fic and a lot of things I want to see in terms of dealing with his abuse. This is an entirely selfish fic. Suggestions and criticisms are greatly appreciated and will be taken under advisement, but ultimately, I'm writing this because this was something I wanted to read.
> 
> And now that you've made it through that massive note, please, enjoy!  
~Mav

Harry glances over at the boy on the stool next to him, but somehow still jumps when he speaks.

“Hello. Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” says Harry.

“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands,” says the boy. He has a bored, drawling voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Harry is strongly reminded of Dudley.

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy goes on.

“No,” says Harry.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No,” Harry says again, wondering what on Earth Quidditch could be. Before he can stop them, the words slip out of his mouth. “What is Quidditch?”

“You’re muggleborn, then?”

“My mum and dad were a witch and a wizard, if that’s what you’re asking. But I was raised by muggles.”

“Well, how did that happen?” The boy looks legitimately confused, so Harry sighs and answers.

“Apparently, my dad didn’t have any family left and they were my mum’s relatives.”

“Still. A magic child should be raised by magic parents. What’s your surname, anyway?”

Harry shifts uncomfortably, muttering, “Potter,” only because it would be rude not to.

“Potter? You mean you’re Hari Potter?” Harry nods. “I’m Draco Malfoy.” He goes to say something else, but Madame Malkin cuts him off.

“That’s you done, my dear,” and Harry hops down from the footstool.

“I’ll find you on the train,” Draco announces before Harry can leave. When he sees Harry’s questioning look, he adds, “Still have to explain Quidditch to you, don’t I?” There’s a little smirk on his face, a bit haughty, but mostly pleased. It’s the crinkle around his eyes that makes Harry agree.

Maybe Draco is a little spoiled, but he seems like he could be okay.

* * *

The following month, Harry spent as much time as possible reading his textbooks and familiarizing himself with his supplies. Luckily, _Hogwarts: A History_ explained the multiple ways to get to Platform 9¾. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d have done otherwise, since Hagrid dropped him off and left, leaving Uncle Vernon to drive him to King’s Cross Station.

“There you are, Potter,” Draco says from directly behind him. He looks happy to see Harry, if Harry is managing to read his face correctly.

“Hello.” Harry shifts uncomfortably under the eyes of the two adults.

“This is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy, and my father, Lucius Malfoy.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replies with a polite nod.

“You, too, dear,” Mrs. Malfoy smiles down at him, then frowns and glances around. “Are you here alone?”

Harry nods, “My uncle dropped me off, but had to go.”

“And your uncle is a muggle?” Mr. Malfoy’s voice is sharp and Harry’s nod is jerky. “Did Hogwarts not send a teacher to guide you?” Harry shakes his head. Mr. Malfoy’s eyes narrow. “They’re supposed to. At least they told you how to get to the platform.”

“They didn’t. I—“ He hesitates under the glares of the two adults. Draco just looks confused. “I read it in _Hogwarts: A History_. It talks all about the train in there.”

“I believe I will be having a word with Dumbledore.” Mr. Malfoy steps forward, shooing Harry to the side slightly. “Let’s just move this up, then.” With a flick of his wand, Harry’s trunk and other luggage settle into the entirely empty car. There were still plenty of open seats on the train, since they’d all arrived plenty early.

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes go wide, “thank you.” Mr. Malfoy nods curtly.

“Draco, the others will want to sit with you, correct?”

“Yes, Mother. Could you enlarge it?”

“Of course. Now, watch closely.” She moves her wand in a complicated pattern and the compartment expands to have enough room for possibly ten people.

“Thank you,” Draco smiles brightly at her. He turns to his father, steals a quick hug, is crushed into a longer one by his mother, then grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him onto the train. The Malfoys walk away, chatting quietly.

“Who did your mum mean when she said, ‘the others’?”

“The others… Oh! Right, that’s Blaise, Theodore, Vincent, Gregg, Pansy, and Daphne. Possibly Millicent. But she might choose to sit elsewhere. I’ve known them my whole life.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You’ll meet them soon, it’s alright. But first, Quidditch.” Draco launches into a long-winded description of the game, filled with plenty of wild gestures and excited side-tracks about professional players. By the end of it, Harry’s sure he could play any position, possibly even referee—if he were able to fly, of course.

“Draco!” The compartment door slams open, revealing a tangle of teenagers who pour into the space. The one who spoke flops down to lounge next to Draco. “Who’s this?”

“Hello, Blaise.” Draco uses one finger to push the other boy’s head off his shoulder. “This is Hari.”

“Har—“ Blaise is cut off by one of the girls.

“You mean Hari Potter? My mum was saying you’d be attending Hogwarts this year. They’re making a big fuss about it down on the platform.” She tilts her head at him, eyes raking over his clothes unpleasantly. “My name’s Pansy Parkinson, by the way. My mum’s the editor for _Witches Weekly_, one of the newspapers. That’s how she knew.”

“Um, yeah, that’s why I got here early. I wanted to avoid the fuss.”

“Don’t want people to know who you are?” The slight, brown haired boy rolls his eyes.

“Well, they’ll find out eventually, I guess, but this way they can’t hound me about it.” The others seem to be assessing him, except the two large ones, then the boy nods shortly.

“I’m Theodore Nott, but call me Theo.”

“Blaise Zabini.”

“I’m Daphne Greengrass.” With that, it seems, Harry was integrated into the group and they started in on other conversations—ones that, suspiciously, kept circling around to how muggles live. But it meant Harry had something to contribute, so who was he to complain? Eventually, they are close enough to the school to change into their uniforms. The girls step out to change in a different compartment while the boys simply pull the shades over the compartment.

“Hari, what happened to your arm?” Draco’s voice is sharp, like something’s severely wrong.

“What?” He has to look down to realize what Draco meant, having forgotten about the burn. “Oh, cooking accident. It’s alright. Doesn’t hurt.”

“Nasty cooking accident,” Blaise mutters. Harry just shrugs and finishes changing.

“Why didn’t they heal it for you?” asks Draco.

“I mean, I used burn cream and kept it bandaged, but there’s not much else to do for it.”

“Right, muggles,” Draco mutters, “we’ll just have to take you to Madame Pomfrey after we have the first year’s meeting. Preferably tonight, but tomorrow morning if we must. She’ll heal it in an instant.”

“It’s really—“

“No. It’s not okay. Madame Pomfrey will heal it.” Gray and green eyes clash and Harry sighs, giving into the determination he sees.

“Fine, then.” The girls walk in at that moment, drawing Harry’s attention away long enough for Draco and Blaise to exchange a meaningful glance.

The train stutters to a stop and they hurry off, after assuring Harry multiple times his things would be taken to the castle for him. But in the crowd of kids attempting to get on the boats, Harry gets separated, scooped up by Hagrid, and plopped into one with a, “There ya go, Harry.” There’s a red-head and the kid who lost his toad already in the boat.

“Hullo,” the red-head smiles, “My name’s Ron. Yours?”

“Harry.”

“What House do you think you’ll get? My whole family’s been Gryffindor, so I have to be there. Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.”

“What’s wrong with Slytherin? I mean, Hagrid said that most wix who go bad are from Slytherin, but it didn’t seem that bad in the books.”

“It’s the House You-Know-Who’s from.” Ron has a dark look on his face, like he’s telling Harry the worst news in the history of magic, but really, what does it matter what dorm someone lived in at school? Does it really affect them that much? Harry hums in response and turns to watch the castle grow. Throughout the ride and walk inside, Ron does everything he can to get Harry back into conversation, but there’s too much to think about.

What House _does_ he want to be in? Is Slytherin really a bad place to be? That’s where Draco and the others said they expected to be and they don’t seem like bad people. In fact, he’d go so far as to say they’re his friends. No, wherever the Sorting places him, it places him. Preferably with Draco, but, no matter what, he gets to learn magic and that’s what matters.

“There you are, Hari,” Draco cries, pushing through the crowd on the stairs.

“Malfoy,” Ron sneers.

“I presume you’re a Weasley, then?”

“Stay away from Harry. He doesn’t want to be friends with _your_ sort.”

“And what’s his sort?” Harry interrupts. Ron does _not_ get to speak for him.

“The _wrong_ sort. His family’s Dark.”

“My father was under the Imperius Curse. They proved it in court.”

“Ron,” Harry steps closer to Draco, turning to face the snarling boy, “I’m certain I can tell the wrong sort for myself, but thanks.” With that, he slips around to the other side of Draco to stand between him and Blaise, who slings an arm across his shoulders and chatters about nothing until a professor steps out.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. I am Professor McGonagall,” says the tall professor. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be Sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

“The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Her eyes linger for a moment on the toad boy’s cloak, which is fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. Harry nervously raises a hand to flatten his hair, but Draco smacks it back down.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” says Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She leaves the chamber. Harry swallows. They’d discussed the ceremony on the train, of course, and it really isn’t scary at all, but it is nerve wracking to know that it’ll be in front of the whole school.

“Relax, Hari. Your hair is fine and if anyone says it isn’t, just say you’re growing it out. That’ll make it more tamable, and acceptable.” Draco pokes at the bottom of his chin. “And don’t slouch. _That’s_ what’s not presentable.” With that, he sticks his nose in the air.

“He’s not wrong, you know. Behavior is more important than looks, despite both being important,” Blaise murmurs in his ear with a low chuckle. Then, Professor McGonagall comes back out, Blaise’s arm slips off his shoulder, and they walk into the Great Hall. It is overwhelming and Harry misses everything that was said until Draco vanishes from his side, stepping up to be Sorted.

Almost before even touching his head, the Hat shouts, “Slytherin.” Harry doesn’t think Draco could look prouder.

A few more people are before him, including Pansy and Theodore, also in Slytherin, until finally, his name is called. An extra hush runs through the crowd. Instead of being politely quiet, they are silent.

Pulling in a deep breath, Harry stands as tall as possible while trying to look relaxed and walks up to the stool. Professor McGonagall places the Hat on his head.

“Hmm,” says a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So where shall I put you?”

Harry grips the edges of the stool and thinks, more to the Hat than himself, _where I’ll be accepted and they’ll let me grow._

“Let you grow, eh?” says the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that, but the others, too. Though, I see you have already found acceptance—Well, then, best be SLYTHERIN!”

Harry hears the Hat shout the last word to the whole Hall. He takes off the Hat and walks shakily toward the Slytherin table. He is so relieved to have been chosen and put in Slytherin, he hardly notices that the Great Hall is silent. Only when the Slytherin table finally begins cheering did he realize they hadn’t been before. Draco and the others—minus Blaise—stand and grin at him, waving him the seat next to Draco.

“Bet none of them saw that coming,” Draco laughs.

“Dumbledore looks pissed,” Pansy snickers.

“Probably thought Hari’d end up in Gryffindor like the rest of his family,” Daphne agrees.

“Yeah,” Pansy nods, smirk slipping into a frown, “but he actually looks angry.” Her voice fades to concern as the next student is Sorted. “Not the, ‘my expectations weren’t met’ type angry, but full-on, ‘I could commit murder’ angry.”

All their eyes turn to the Headmaster, who is sitting with flames where the usual twinkle should be. Harry shivers.

“Father says he’s always been manipulative… I wonder if that has anything to do with it.”

“What, like he had a plan and Hari being in Slytherin messes it up?” Pansy leans towards Draco.

“Exactly like that.”

“Why would he have a plan about me?”

“Well,” Draco looks to Pansy, who simply shrugs. “I suppose it’d be because you’re the Boy-Who-Lived and he’s one of the ones who believes that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still out there.”

“People believe that?”

“Only the ones who blindly believe Dumbledore.”

“Or obsess over the _Daily Prophet_—that’s another newspaper,” grumbles Pansy.

Blaise joins them and Draco fills him in in hushed tones. He simply nods and listens to the “speech” Dumbledore gives. There’ll be time to puzzle it out later.

The chance comes as they’re walking down to the dungeons. Dumbledore appears and pulls Harry out of the group for a moment.

“Mr. Potter, my boy, I wanted to offer to let you be re-Sorted. Wouldn’t you rather be in Gryffindor? It’s where your mother and father were.” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he speaks, but it fades as Harry responds.

“No, Headmaster, I’ve already made friends in Slytherin. I think I’ll be happy there.” The flames start up again and Harry hurries to catch up to the rest of the group before the Headmaster could try to make him be re-Sorted.

“What did he say?” Blaise hisses into his ear.

“Later.”

They enter the common room when the prefect—Gemma, Harry believes—says the password, “Belladonna,” to a seemingly blank wall. Waiting for them is the man Draco pointed out as their Head of House, Professor Snape, and Draco’s Uncle Sev.

“Welcome,” he starts, face and voice soft and welcoming, “to Slytherin. I want to make just a few points clear before the prefects explain the rules to you.

“First, is that we are a united front. Fight and hate each other as much as you want in here, but once you step through the door, you are allies. The other Houses aren’t particularly fond of us, though you may find a friend or two in Hufflepuff.” That earns a few snorts, but Professor Snape ignores them.

“If you are going to break the rules, don’t get caught. We’ve had the House Cup for six years now. I don’t want to give it up. Please be sure to review the Potions textbook before my class. I can’t have my own house blowing up cauldrons.

“Lastly, my quarters are directly across the hall. Should you need anything, you can knock on the tapestry. Goodnight.” They chorus back a ‘goodnight’ and turn back to the prefects.

“Boys dorms are to the left, there, and girls to the right. First years, yours will be towards the back, furthest from the common room door. If anyone manages to get in, they’ll hit the sixth years first, with the fifth and seventh years—the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students—just in front of you. In short, dorms are in order of who is most ready to defend the dorm. Not that we should ever need to, but,” Gemma looks them all in the eyes, “the other Houses really aren’t fans of ours. While you can get through to both gender’s dorms on a normal basis, keep in mind that there are spells in place to keep you out if you have the intent of doing anything untoward.

“Professor Snape will hand out your schedules in the morning on Monday after breakfast, so meet back here right away. Studies come first. If you can keep your grades at an acceptable level, then you will be free to do whatever else you like. If you need tutoring, second, third, fourth, and sixth years will be available according to the schedule on the bulletin board.

“I believe that’s all for tonight, so go, unpack, get settled, and get to know each other. Welcome to the family and goodnight.”

Their room is larger than Harry expected, with six full size, four poster beds draped in thick, silver curtains. The sheets and duvet are a warm green, close to matching Harry’s eyes. There’s a nightstand on one side of his bed and a desk on the other. Around the desk are more poles, allowing the space to curtain off and become a private study area. Along one wall are six wardrobes and on the other is the door to the bathroom. His trunk is settled at the foot of one of the beds. He can’t help but stare.

“Why do you look so awed?” Draco drawls from where he’s unpacking his clothes into the drawers under the bed.

“It’s just… it’s such a big bed, and I guess I wasn’t expecting my own desk and night stand. I dunno.”

“Big bed?” Draco’s eyebrows pinch. “Mine at home is at least double this.”

Harry shrugs, “mine’s not.” Harry knows his bed wasn’t a bed, not the one under the stairs. That was a cot, technically. He was lucky they let him move it into Dudley’s second bedroom for the last month.

“Hey, why’d they spell my name like that?” He runs his fingers across the etching at the foot of the bed reading ‘Hari Potter’.

“That’s your name,” Draco drawls, looking at him like he’s an idiot. “How did you think it was spelled?”

“H-A-R-R-Y.”

“No,” Draco shakes his head, “that’s the Westernized version, but your legal name is H-A-R-I. I guess it’s up to you how you want to spell it, but what’s etched there is what your parents named you.”

“Well, Aunt Petunia never did like anything that stands out,” Harry—no, Hari muses. Ignoring Draco’s frown, he sets about unpacking.

“Oh, we are definitely doing some shopping. Where _did_ you get those clothes?” Blaise’s nose is crinkled when Hari looks up.

“Hand-me-downs from my cousin. He’s much larger than me. And I thought we couldn’t leave the grounds.”

“No, we can’t, but we can order by owl. I’m sure Pansy and Daphne will help and the shop can withdraw the funds directly from Gringotts. It’s no more expensive than shopping in person, just a bit more of a wait.”

“Do I really need to?”

“Yes!” three voices chorus at once, even Theo piping in this time.

“It’s settled, then, new wardrobe for Hari Potter tomorrow.” Blaise nods to himself, seemingly pleased.

“Then he has to see Madame Pomfrey,” Draco adds. “That burn has to hurt.”

“It _doesn’t,_” Hari attempts to assert, but the others ignore it.

“It’s not curfew yet,” Blaise points out, “we could take him now. We’re all unpacked.”

“True, that’s a good idea. Let’s get Pansy and Daphne.” Both his hands are grabbed and tugged until they’re at the girls’ room.

“Pans, Daphne!” Blaise calls into the closed room. “Come on, we’re going for a walk! It’s not optional.” Two sets of glares appear and Hari grimaces sympathetically.

“I’m here against my will, too.”

Pansy sighs, “then I guess we have to go.”

Draco rolls his eyes, “Hari’s the reason we’re going at all. He needs his arm treated by Madame Pomfrey.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“It’s massive! And if we can heal it, why wouldn’t we?” Hari and Draco glare at each other as they walk, neither wanting to back down.

“At least watch where you’re going when we’re on the stairs.”

“Oh! Pans, do you have catalogues we can use to get Hari a new wardrobe tomorrow? I didn’t think I’d need mine, so they’re at home.” Blaise and Pansy slide into a conversation about color schemes and ‘fits’ and styles that Hari decides to tune out.

A hand runs through his hair, startling him back to the moment. “Well,” Daphne’s voice says, “he needs new shampoo and conditioner, but once that comes in, we can add the potion. I think just above his shoulders would be a good length for him, especially with those curls.”

“Definitely. If we get him some hairbands, we can teach him a few hair styles.”

“But we don’t really want all this stuff being dropped off in the Great Hall.”

“I checked on that before we came. Large packages like clothes and such can be delivered to our Head of House’s office, we just have to address it with ‘Slytherin’ instead of ‘Hogwarts’.”

“Good,” Blaise cuts into the girls’ conversation, “We’ll measure and order tomorrow and it should all arrive on Monday, so we can fix his hair after classes.”

“No, no, we’ll order the hair supplies tonight so it comes in tomorrow and his hair will be nice for the first day of classes.”

“Guys! We actually need to go into the hospital wing, not just stand outside talking,” Draco snaps.

“Then go in!” Pansy huffs with an exaggerated eye roll. “We’ll meet you at the owlry.”

“Already, boys? Hello, Mr. Potter.”

“Hello.”

“Hello, Madame Pomfrey. Hari burned his arm before coming to school. Can you fix it?” Draco holds his arm out, pushing the sleeve up for the mediwitch to see.

“Oh, my, that looks like it must’ve hurt. Still does, I’d imagine. Yes, yes,” she bustles off and comes back with a jar, “a bit of this and it should heal up nicely. It doesn’t look too old for this to work.” She waves her wand over one of her hands for a moment, then opens the jar and rubs the cream across the wound. “Now, it should stop hurting quickly, but the cream needs to stay on overnight, so I’m going to bandage it. You’ll be able to take it off in the morning. If there’s still a mark or it’s red _at all,_ you come right back here, understand, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She uses a spell that causes the bandages to appear neatly around his arm.

“Off you go, then. Owlry, I think Ms. Parkinson said? Best hurry if you don’t want to be late for curfew.”

They race off with “farewells” called over the shoulders and make it to the owlry as Daphne is checking off the last item she picked out.

“Just in time, Hari, Draco. Hari, come here.” She holds a paper out to him.

“So, you sign here,” Blaise points, “it’ll register that you are who you say you are, then, once the items are delivered, it’ll withdraw the money from your Gringotts account.”

“It can do that? Tell who I am, I mean?”

“Yes,” Draco grins at him, “pretty neat, right?” Hari nods and signs his name, careful to spell it properly. “Did any of you bring an owl?” Draco wanders through, peering into the rafters. “Otherwise we’ve got to use a school one.”

“I’ve got Hedwig.” Everyone turns to stare at him. “What?”

“Why is it that the boy raised by muggles has an owl and the rest of us don’t?” Daphne groans.

“Ah, Hagrid picked her out for me. He called it a birthday gift, but I’m pretty sure he used my money to pay, so…” Hari trails off, scanning the rafters for the snowy owl. “She’s really smart, though.” On cue, she flutters down and lands gently on his arm. Offering her a few treats, he lets Draco attach the letter, then lets her out the window. She flies off after giving him an affectionate nip on the finger.

“So, not to be the bearer of bad news, but we have ten minutes before curfew.” Blaise is studying the watch on his left wrist.

“If we run halfway, we can walk the rest. And then we won’t lose any points,” Hari suggests. There’s no hesitation, they all take off running, sprinting down the stairs to the dungeons. Finally on the correct floor, they walk the rest of the way and let themselves in just before curfew.

“And, after that eventful day, I’m off to bed,” Pansy announces. Everyone follows her lead and, once dressed in pajamas, they sleep the moment their heads hit the pillows.


	2. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting the first chapter to go over as well as it did, so, here, have another, since apparently you all like it. And, since you all loved it so much, I managed to finish writing this first book and broke it down into chapters. It totals almost 54k words and I've already started book two. For every chapter of book two that I write, a chapter will be uploaded here. Rest assured that as long as I'm uploading, I'm writing, and I'm pretty far ahead.
> 
> There's depiction of injuries and discussions of abuse in this one, so proceed with caution. But also, there's cuddles at the end, so that makes it better.  
~Mav  
*Injury list edited to reflect canon strike with frying pan. 11/4/19

“Okay, Hari, stand still and this’ll be over in just a few minutes, okay?” Pansy starts to unravel something. “Take your shirt off and… Actually, hang on.” She disappears for a minute, then returns holding a pair of shorts. “Change into these. And take the bandages off.”

He does as requested, but stands with his back practically against the wall, eyes downcast. _Don’t let them see it. They’ll be disgusted._ The thick lines crisscrossing his back and mottled scars Draco and Madame Pomfrey didn’t notice next to the fresh burn make him shift side to side.

The girls just look at him for a moment, then Daphne says, “I’m going to send one of the boys to get the package from Professor Snape. It should’ve arrived by now.” Pansy nods, swallowing around the knot in her throat. The burn disguised it yesterday, but… Even his arms are skin and bone. She’s sure she could count his ribs and, if he turned around, see the outline of each vertebrae in his spine. And that’s ignoring the burn scars coating his arms.

“So, this is a magical measuring tape. It’ll transfer your measurements to a parchment and then we’ll buy everything charmed to expand a few centimeters,” she explains, “for when you grow.” Because he will grow, even if it’s just to put on some weight, she’s sure of that. Regular meals should do it, unless he’s this thin due to a major illness.

“Okay,” Hari agrees easily, “How much will it grow?”

“You’ll probably need new clothes again next year, it’s just designed so you aren’t constantly buying new things since kids grow a lot.” With that, she releases the measuring tape and lets it do its job, watching horribly small numbers appear on the parchment.

As this goes on, Daphne steps outside.

“Draco,” she starts, voice slow, “you need to get Professor Snape.”

“What?” The boy’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing on her. “Did you hurt him?”

“No, but he needs to see Madame Pomfrey right away. And it needs to be discrete. He can’t know we’re the reason he’s seeing her again.”

“Why?”

“It’ll embarrass him. Please, trust me. Just… go, get the packages, and tell Professor Snape to come here in a half hour, to keep the secret.”

Draco, mind whirling at what the problem could be, rises and hurries to the teacher’s quarters. His knocks on the tapestry are practically frantic.

“Draco?” The dark eyes of his godfather peer down at him. “What’s wrong?” _I must not be hiding my emotions well. I’ll need to practice more._ Draco shakes the thoughts off.

“Can I come in for a moment?” He’s allowed in and the door closes behind him. “Uncle Sev, did any packages for Hari come today?”

“Yes,” the professor rolls his eyes, “two. Already.”

“Okay, so, I’m going to take those to him—we’re trying to fix his hair and clothes. They’re both abysmal. But, and I’ll say this now, I don’t know exactly what’s going on—but Daphne told me to tell you to come in a half an hour with an excuse to take Hari to Madame Pomfrey.”

“And why would Ms. Greengrass tell you that?”

“I don’t know, but she and Pansy were the ones measuring Hari for new clothes. Anything I say would only be speculation. And, Uncle Sev, he didn’t even know the proper way to spell his name.” Severus stares down at him, reading his face and body language and Draco can’t help but squirm. Uncle Sev has always been intense.

“I see.” He strides over to a filing cabinet and pulls out Hari’s file. “Well, we don’t have a physical on record for him, so I suppose that would be a valid reason for me to collect him. A half an hour, you said?”

“Yes, she doesn’t want him to think we said anything.”

“I’ll be there,” Severus promises and hands over the two boxes. “Now, go quickly.”

Draco darts back to the room as quickly as he can with the boxes in his arms.

“Finally, Draco, what took you so long?” Daphne glares meaningfully, daring him to give away their scheme.

“Professor Snape is my godfather. He wanted to chat for a minute. Sorry.”

Hari beams at him from his seat on his bed, “That’s alright. It got me a reprieve, if only for a minute.”

“It was only a minute,” Daphne rips the boxes open, “so up, and let’s go fix your hair.”

“Um…”

“Oh, don’t look like that,” Pansy shoos him towards the bathroom, “there’s a tub, so we’ll wash your hair there.”

“This potion,” Daphne holds up a bottle and shakes it once the door closes, “is what we’ll use to grow your hair out. Put it on, leave it until the hair is the length we want it, then rinse it off. It grows about a centimeter for every thirty seconds.

“We’ll be letting it grow about an inch past where we want it so we can trim it properly. Then it won’t look uneven. And once we’ve ordered your clothes, Pansy and I can teach you a few ways to pull it up, though it’ll be a shame to do so. Its already curling at the ends and I’m certain they’ll be gorgeous grown out.”

Pansy presses on his shoulders to make him sit on the edge of the tub and before he can object, Daphne is working the potion through his hair.

“How do you know how to do all this?”

“Trial and error,” the two say in unison. Hari laughs and the warm sound makes them join in.

“Uh, wait—a centimeter every thirty seconds? How long, exactly, are we growing my hair out?”

“It’ll be just past your shoulders before we cut it. It’ll take about fifteen minutes to grow that long, I can tell you that from experience.” Daphne fingers her hair, looking as if fighting back a bad memory.

“I have to sit here that long?” Not that it’s a long time to sit doing nothing, but at least in his cupboard, he could lay down.

“No,” Pansy laughs, “Well, yes. But I’ll let Blaise and Draco in with the catalogues and start picking out your clothes. Just, you stay on the edge of the tub.”

True to their word, the girls let Draco and Blaise in and start rifling through the catalogues.

“We’re getting him a ton of green,” Draco announces.

“That, and blues and purples. Dark reds would look nice, but not during the school years,” Blaise agrees immediately.

“And dark grays. I think pale colors wouldn’t suit him, so keep to the dark tones,” Pansy tells them, “But make sure to get him some white, too.”

“I don’t really need that much, guys.”

“We’re just getting the necessities,” Blaise assures him as the other three blink at him incredulously.

Within a few minutes, they have several pairs of slacks in black and navy, two pairs of jeans, one black and the other dark wash, as well as at least fifteen button-down shirts in varying solid-color tones selected. Hari has to fight to be allowed to pick some t-shirts, too.

Picking the robes takes longer. In fact, they’re still arguing over which style robes would look best on him when Daphne starts scrubbing the potion out of his hair. When he sits up, it hangs to the bottom of his collarbones, but Daphne assures him that that’s because of the water and conditioner in his hair. He shrugs, remembering she’d said she’ll be cutting it later, too.

“Why not just get a few of both styles, if you can’t agree?” All eyes turn to him as if he’d had a revolutionary idea.

“I guess that would work. One of each color in both styles, then? That gives him twelve sets of robes, based on our selection, which should be plenty for now.” They start checking off boxes and Blaise shoves a page into his hands.

“Pick some of these. I’ll take care of shoes now that they’ve stopped squabbling.”

On the parchment is a selection of underwear and socks. Hari feels warmth flood his face and is certain he’s beet red, but checks off an appropriate number of each. As soon as he hands it back, Daphne shoves his head down to rinse the conditioner out. When his hair is clean, the others get shooed away so she can trim it up in peace.

“Finally, some quiet,” she sighs. “I love them, but they are so loud.”

“They are, but it’s kind of nice. Though I do feel like everything’s just happening around me, right now.”

“Like you’re just getting dragged along?” Daphne asks, but she doesn’t wait for an answer. “That’s kind of what’s happening. You didn’t want new clothes and probably would’ve left your hair as it was if we hadn’t intervened, so we’re not letting you do much so you can’t argue.”

Hari thinks about that for a moment, then huffs, “now that you’ve pointed it out, that seems way too obvious for me to not have gotten it.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Daphne laughs, “it’s a Slytherin thing. You’ll get used to it, even take part in it, soon enough.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so. And apparently the Hat did, too.”

“The Hat said there were lots of Houses I could go to.”

“You do seem like that kind of person. You weren’t a Hat stall, though, so the decision must’ve still been clear.”

“I think I asked it for Slytherin without using those exact words.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked the Hat to put me in the House that would best accept me and help me grow.”

“Well, then,” Daphne laughs brightly, “no better place than Slytherin. We all want to grow here. Ambition is the name of the game, honestly. So long as you put your heart into it, you’ll be accepted here. Though, I suppose Hufflepuff would’ve worked for acceptance, too. But, you already had friends in Slytherin, and the Hat takes that kind of thing into account.”

“I’m glad. I told Blaise I’d explain later when he asked last night, but you remember when Headmaster Dumbledore pulled me away for a moment?” Daphne hums, so Hari continues, “he asked me if I’d like to be re-Sorted. Specifically, re-Sorted into Gryffindor.”

“What?” Daphne hisses, “firstly, re-Sorting isn’t actually a _thing._ Also, Gryffindor? Sounds like Pansy was right last night. He had a plan and you being in Slytherin messes it up.” There’s silence for a moment, the snipping scissors the only sound, then she says, “just hold still, I’m right at the last bit.” A few more snips, some light brushes of the comb, and she steps around him, drawing her wand.

“What do you have that for?”

“Don’t worry so much,” she smirks, “I’m only going to dry your hair.”

“Sorry,” he offers with a self-deprecating smile and she just waves the wand, murmuring a word he’s never heard before. In an instant, his hair is dry and the ends hovering just over his shoulders.

“Oh, I knew your hair would be stunning,” Daphne breathes, staring at the loose, careless curls framing his face. Parted slightly to the right, the length made his highlights visible and the texture made it look thick.

Hari stands and peers into the mirror. Daphne watches as his face disappears behind the curls when he leans closer. When he turns back, he’s grinning like a loon.

“It’s wonderful, thank you.” He yanks her into a hug she gleefully returns.

“Let’s go show the critics.” She opens the door and steps out first, staring at them. “You three ready?” Once all eyes are on her, she steps aside and lets Hari come into their vision. There’s a beat of stunned silence that Blaise breaks.

“I did not expect it to look _that_ good. Well done, Daphne.”

“It seems your hair was redeemable, Hari,” Draco grins. “That’s lucky. You’d never have gotten a date, otherwise.” Pansy smacks him.

“Don’t listen to him, Hari. We’re too young to worry about dating, anyway. That’s a problem for third year.”

Just then, there’s a knock on the door.

“Mr. Potter?” comes Professor Snape’s voice. Hari freezes, fear showing on his face. Draco notices and answers the door for him.

“Hello, Draco. Is Mr. Potter here? It seems he doesn’t have a physical on file.”

“I don’t?” Hari asks in a shaking voice. _Are they going to kick me out? I can’t go back, I can’t!_

“You don’t,” Professor Snape confirms, “If you have a few minutes, I can take you up to Madame Pomfrey and she can conduct one now.” The relief must show on his face, since Professor Snape turns away slightly, saying, “I’ll meet you outside the common room door once you get your shoes on.”

Hari, still scared and unsure what to do, pulls on his shoes robotically.

“Hey,” Draco grabs his shoulders, “relax, it’s just a couple spells. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Will you come with me? I- I don’t remember when I last went to the doctor.”

“I would, but I wouldn’t be allowed in. But you met Madame Pomfrey last night. She’s a mediwitch. So actually, you do remember when you last saw a doctor.” There’s a little smile on Draco’s face that, for whatever reason, relaxes Hari enough for him to make his way to Professor Snape.

Inside the dorm room, Daphne and Pansy start describing what they saw to the boys, who grow paler and paler with every word. Eventually, Draco decides enough is enough and he stands.

“He was scared and we sent him off alone. We need to at least be there when he’s done.” So, the four stand up and start walking.

Just outside the common room, Severus looks up as the wall opens to reveal a long-haired Hari Potter.

“Professor?”

“Come along, Mr. Potter.”

“I could go myself, sir. I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’d have to go up to collect the paperwork anyway. Might as well be there when it’s written up.” _And I’m not scared to use the word your friends so cleverly avoided. If it is abuse, I’ll take over as your guardian, as your Head of House._

“If you’re certain.”

“I am.” Severus looks down to the boy next to him, his head bowed and curls hiding his face. Even standing up straight, he’s far too short for his age. Though, given what Dumbledore had told him about Hari’s home life, Severus would have simply assumed the boy is short, like Lily. Looking again, he can see the way the clothes hang of him, clearly at least five sizes too big.

“I recall your hair being much shorter yesterday, Mr. Potter.”

“Hm?” Hari’s head tilts up and green eyes blink at him behind ill-fitting frames. “Oh, yeah, Daphne put something on it to make it grow. She and the others said it would make my hair look neater.”

“It certainly did the trick.”

“Yeah,” there’s a slight pause, “but I hope it wasn’t a bother. The packages, I mean. With the shampoos and brushes and such. I let Daphne pick what she said I’d need.”

A bother? No, no bother. But Severus had assumed that Hari was the spoiled boy Dumbledore depicted, and was irritated because of that.

“It was no bother. Ms. Greengrass certainly is a good choice for assistance with haircare, if Mr. Malfoy’s stories are to be believed.”

“She got me a bunch of stuff and she trimmed it when it was done growing. So, I think she does.”

“May I ask what all was in the boxes?”

Hari nods, “a shampoo and conditioner, a new hairbrush, something called dry shampoo, I think, and a bunch of hair bands and scrunchies and pins.”

“Not as much as I anticipated.”

“The box of bands and such actually had tons in it. But apparently, they get lost all the time, so I’ll need that many. Or something like that.”

“Well,” Severus opens the door to the hospital wing, “I suppose she would know better than us.”

“Severus,” Madame Pomfrey rises from her desk, “and Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Potter,” Severus looks at the boy, “please go take a seat on one of the beds over there. Madame Pomfrey and I will be over in a minute.” When Hari walks away, Severus meets Poppy’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? He doesn’t look ill to me.”

“No, he’s not. But, it was brought to my attention that there are some health concerns from his friends. Ms. Greengrass sent Mr. Malfoy to let me know under the guise of collecting a package so that Mr. Potter would not know they had told me.”

“How did they discover this?”

“I believe they are intending to entirely re-do his wardrobe. They have already completed his hair.”

“Ah. I suppose Ms. Parkinson was assisting with measuring Mr. Potter for new clothes.”

“I would think that a safe assumption. In any case, I informed Mr. Potter that we do not have a physical on record for him. However, it is to our benefit that he has never seen a mediwitch before and, as such, will not know what spells are normal.”

“So, I can use whatever spells are necessary to get to the bottom of this.” When Severus nods, Poppy makes her way over to Hari, Severus following at a slower pace.

“Hello, Mr. Potter. Professor Snape has told me that you haven’t had your physical yet, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am. I wasn’t aware I needed one.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. Most muggleborn students come see me in the first week, anyway. You’re simply Professor Snape’s only muggle-raised student.” Poppy lightly pats him on his head. Neither adult misses the way he scrunches his eyes for a moment at the motion. “In terms of the spells I’m going to use, I’ll first cast one that will give me a history of all health-related events in your life. Then, I’ll do a scan of past illnesses. Since you have glasses, I’ll also be checking your prescription, just in case it needs updating. If there’s anything that warrants a closer look, I’ll use specialized spells for that. Do you understand, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Alright, Severus, would you close the curtains, please?” There’s a swishing sound, then the lighting adjusts so Poppy can see better. “Mr. Potter, I’m going to ask you to take off your shirt and trousers and just stand right here, okay? The initial scans can be inhibited by clothing.”

Hari fidgets slightly, but does as asked, removing the items and folding them onto the bed neatly. She has to take a deep breath to maintain her professionalism and casts the first spell. Behind her, Severus has angled himself away in an attempt to center himself.

Uncertainty squirms in Hari’s stomach. He’d always been told not to tell anyone about what happened with the Dursleys, but this isn’t technically telling, is it? Besides, physicals are mandatory, aren’t they? And if he doesn’t get one, they’ll send him back, and that’d be worse, both for him and the Dursleys.

His eyes watch the parchment next to him fill with words.

_Age 0: _

_Born, first vaccinations, several minor falls (attempts to walk)_

_Age 1: _

_Second vaccinations, Curse, minor starvation_

_Age 2: _

_Slapped (4 times), dragged by arm, crib moved to cupboard under the stairs, starvation_

_Age 3: _

_Slapped (10 times), dragged by arm (dislocated shoulder), visible malnutrition_

_Age 4: _

_Slapped (23 times), thrown (concussion), kicked (bruising), malnutrition_

_Age 5: _

_Slapped (27 times), kicked (bruised, bruised ribs), cut hand (pruning shears), malnutrition_

_Age 6: _

_Slapped (44 times), kicked (bruising), burns (cooking), struck (frying pan), malnutrition_

_Age 7: _

_Slapped (68 times), belt (16 lashes), burns (stove), kicked (broken arm), struck (frying pan), malnutrition, dog bite (ankle)_

_—Arm wrapped, no Healer seen_

_Age 8: _

_Slapped (59 times), belt (22 lashes), burns (stove, grease), kicked (bruising), struck (frying pan), malnutrition_

_Age 9: _

_Slapped (57 times), belt (29 lashes), burns (stove, grease), kicked (bruising), malnutrition_

_Age 10: _

_Slapped (62 times), belt (43 lashes), burns (stove, grease), kicked (bruising), malnutrition_

_Age 11: _

_Slapped (12 times), belt (10 lashes), burns (stove, grease), kicked (bruising), malnutrition_

“It doesn’t show any illnesses?” asks Hari.

“No, just external events. The next scan will show illnesses,” Madame Pomfrey lifts her wand again, “I’ll be doing that one now.” A second parchment appears next to him, filling with words again. It lists the number of times he’s had strep throat, pneumonia, the flu, and even the common cold. By the look on the mediwitch’s face, the number is far too high.

“Okay, sweetie, next up, I’m going to check your prescription. After that, I’d like to check your lungs and throat, so please leave your shirt off, but you can put your pants back on.” Hari scrambles to do so and takes a seat on the bed again. “Good, here goes.”

His glasses are removed and the spell cast. Madame Pomfrey glances at the prescription that pops up, taps her wand on the glasses, and takes a deep breath. Hari assumes that’s not a good sign.

“Severus, I’m going to give you a catalogue to get him new frames along with the new prescription.”

“I’m sure his friends will be happy to help.”

“They will,” Hari pipes in, smiling happily. Poppy watches him with wide eyes. _How can he just ignore everything that’s happened to him and be this happy?_

“That’s good. Now for your lungs, take a deep breath, and let it out very slowly.” The scan, this time, only takes a moment. “Thank goodness, no damage a potion or two can’t heal right up. Alright, your throat’s next, so just relax.” Another moment and Madame Pomfrey announces, “One more potion there and you’ll be right as rain.” She smiles brilliantly at him and summons three potions, handing them to him to drink. He makes a face at the taste. Her smile fades when he’s done, voice becoming serious.

“Hari, are you okay with Severus sitting in on this part?”

“What part?”

“We need to discuss a treatment plan for some of this. It might be helpful to have him offer input, since he’ll be the one brewing the potions anyway.”

“That’s alright, then. He can stay.” Hari swings his feet lightly as Poppy conjures two chairs and they seat themselves in front of him.

“I’m not terribly concerned about the mentioned slaps or the concussion. You don’t seem to have any lasting effects from the concussion, since those would be listed on here. What I am concerned about is the broken arm, malnutrition, burns, and lashings. We’ll start with the arm. Hold it out for me.” She waves her wand for a moment and an image of the bone hovers in the air. “This is what your bone looks like.” Above it, another bone appears. “This is what it should look like. As you can see, it’s not correct. Honestly, the only option we have is to re-break it so it can set and heal properly. There are some problems with that, but I’ll address them later.”

“If you have to break it again, that’s fine. How long would it take to heal?”

“It would just be a spell, Mr. Potter,” Severus cuts in, “this isn’t like the muggle world. It’d heal in a few hours, at most.”

“Oh, that’s definitely alright, then.” Hari nods like it’s all decided and turns back to Madame Pomfrey.

“We’ll do that another day. I suppose we can talk about the lashings next.” Hari looks away, shame scrawled across his face. “Sweetie, I need to see your back, okay? I might be able to help with some of the scarring, though, most of it is too old to do much.”

Hari silently stands and lets her lift his shirt, shivering at the cold air.

“As I thought, it’s past time for me to do much of anything besides heal the fresh ones. I’m sorry. But I’m glad there doesn’t appear to be internal damage caused by it.” His shirt drops back down and she pats him on the shoulder. “You can sit back down. I’d like to see your arms again, though I’m afraid it will be quite a similar situation.”

He holds them out and she runs light fingers over the ridges. None are recent enough to be considered wounds. Poppy sighs. Nothing to be done.

“Sorry, sweetie, they’re too old. Which leaves us with your weight.”

“My weight?”

“Mr. Potter, do you believe yourself to be a healthy weight?” Severus leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Well… All I really knew was that Dudley and Uncle Vernon were overweight, so I just assumed this was closer to normal, at least.”

“No, Hari, it’s not. They might be overweight—obese, even—but you are underweight, severely. Enough that I’m worried it will have lasting damage.” Slight sorrow glimmers in Hari’s eyes. “Not too bad, sweetie, magic will make sure of that, but some. So, we’ll have to start treatment right away. Beginning with getting your weight up.

“There’s a few things we’ll be doing. A nutrient potion, since I’m sure your stomach is too small to really eat much. We’ll also be giving you a muggle drink called Pediasure. It’s designed to provide as much nutrients and calories as possible in the littlest drink possible.

“In addition, you’ll be taking a few potions to promote muscle growth, bone health, and general growth. Granted, you may never make up all the inches you lost due to the missed growth spurts, but you can at least make up one or two this year. I’d also like you to take two preventative potions, one designed to reduce general organ damage and the other to prevent illnesses. All of these will have to be taken daily. Is that alright?”

“It sounds…” Hari tilts his head. “I guess it sounds correct, at least. It’s a lot, though.”

“I know, but they’ll be split into two groups, one morning and one evening.”

“Which ones at which times?”

“Nutrition and preventative in the morning, then the growth and bone ones in the evening. Those ones tend to make people drowsy.”

“Okay. How often will I need to drink the Pediasure?”

“Twice a day. Preferably not at mealtimes so you’re still eating then, as well.” Hari nods. Everything seems logical and he’s not the doctor here. Besides, Madame Pomfrey seems trustworthy and Professor Snape is here, too. Certainly, he wouldn’t let her do anything wrong. Hari glances at him.

“That’s all correct. If you stick with it, you could be ready to receive your updated vaccinations by the end of the school year.”

“It’ll take that long?”

“I expect you’ll pick up weight rather quickly, but we have to be careful. If you eat too much, too quickly, and too soon, it could actually make you sicker.”

“Quite true, Severus.” She turns back to Hari. “For now, stick to light, healthy foods, in small amounts. The Pediasure should be your primary source of calories for now. The nutrient potions, thankfully, are safe to start taking right away. I’d like you to come back at the end of the week so I can check you over again and see if you’re ready to up your food intake.”

“I can do that. Where do I get the Pedia… um, what is it called again?”

“Pediasure,” Professor Snape tells him, “and I will get it for you. I will give you two each morning after breakfast. Drink one after your first morning class and the other after your first afternoon class.”

“And the potions?”

“You will take the morning ones when you collect the Pediasure. The evening ones you will come get from me after dinner.”

“They’ll make me drowsy, right? What about homework? And Astronomy? Isn’t that a class we take at night?”

“We’ll find a way around that on Wednesday. For now,” Professor Snape sighs, “let’s just get started with what we can.”

“I have a few doses of each in my stores,” Madame Pomfrey says, bustling out of the curtained area, and returning with five containers. “These are the morning ones, which I’ll have you take now, since it is after breakfast. This is a bottle of Pediasure. There are different flavors—chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, so let me know which one tastes best to you and we’ll keep those on hand. This,” she holds up a little jar, “is dittany. I’ll put this on your back after closing up the open wounds and it should reduce scarring from the last few months. I’ll put more on the next few times you come in.”

Hari reaches for the potions. He gulps down all three, each tasting worse than the one before it. Taking a sip of the Pediasure is a relief, to say the least.

“Good,” Professor Snape rises, “I’ll brew fresh of the rest, rather than take from your stores, Poppy.” He sweeps out of the little room, robes billowing around him, and Poppy turns to Hari.

“Take your shirt off, sweetie, and I’ll close up those sores for you.” She helps him up with a gentle hand, guiding him to turn away once the top is off. She murmurs a few spells and the pain in Hari’s back fades into gentle tugging as the wounds close themselves. “Alright, now, this might be cold, but it will take away some of the scars.” Her hands are soft as they smooth the cream into his back. “There we go. Mind if I do your arms, too?”

He silently turns and lets her do as she pleases. The soft touches feel nice, even if the cream is cold. Coming back here might not be so bad, if she’s going to do this every time.

“It feels kind of greasy,” he murmurs, slipping back into his shirt.

“Don’t wipe it off until after lunch. It needs to stay on for a little while.” Madame Pomfrey guides him out to Professor Snape. “He’ll be alright,” she assures Professor Snape, “with time. If someone from his room gets sick, though, they should stay here and the dorm thoroughly cleaned, since he hasn’t had vaccinations.”

“Very well,” Professor Snape agrees instantly. He doesn’t look terribly displeased, but Hari still looks away. Someone will have to do more work because of him. “Mr. Potter, perhaps you could ask your friends about house elves. They are the ones who will be cleaning the room, after all. They tend to the entire castle.”

“I will,” Hari promises.

“Then, let’s return.” Professor Snape opens the door, guiding Hari out with a light hand on his shoulder. Across the hall, four children are waiting.

“Hari!” Draco cries, jumping towards him. “Everything okay?”

“It was alright.”

“Be honest with them, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape suggests, “keeping secrets is difficult in a dorm and will lead to tension.”

“Yes, sir.” Hari digs a toe into the stone. Draco takes his hand, smoothing his thumb across Hari’s knuckles.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell us,” he reassures him. “But we do want to help.”

“Um, maybe back in the room?”

“If you like,” Blaise agrees, nodding sagely. The group walks back quickly—not obviously hurrying, but still walking more quickly than typical.

Severus chuckles internally, watching them disappear ahead of him. Children can be so entertaining. But the mirth quickly fades. He has a bone to pick with Dumbledore. Though, perhaps it would be best to approach Minerva first. If Dumbledore was willing to lie about this, he’ll need multiple people on his side to dig the truth out.

“So,” Pansy settles across from Hari on his bed, “What happened?”

“Ah, well…” Hari stumbles, not knowing where to start.

“Did they make you take any vaccines?” Daphne asks.

“No,” Hari says, relieved for an easy question to answer, “Madame Pomfrey told me I can’t receive them yet.”

“There’s your starting point, then,” Pansy leans her elbows on her knees, “why?”

“I think they thought I don’t weigh enough.”

“Seriously? That’s it?” Blaise huffs, “I didn’t think that would be enough of a reason to not be vaccinated.”

Draco smacks him upside the head, “don’t be stupid, Blaise. If your weight is low enough, your immune system is weakened to the point that vaccines are unsafe. That’s probably what happened.” He turns back to Hari. “What are they doing for your weight?”

“Um… I have to get potions from Professor Snape twice a day and eat small amounts at meal times, then drink something in between them.” He is definitely not going to mention that the drink has a picture of a baby on it. “The bottle says it’s a shake with extra protein.”

“Small meals, supplemented with high calorie drinks between them,” Draco hums, “that makes sense. I suppose you’re also taking a nutrient potion?”

“Yeah, and muscle, bone, and general growth ones, then one to prevent and reverse organ damage and one to prevent illness.” Draco pales when Hari lists them all off. “Is that bad?”

“It’s just… Okay, I know a bunch about this ‘cuz I kind of want to be a Healer someday, so I spent a lot of time at home reading up on stuff like this. When I was reading about what potions are used in what cases, those were listed in the section of more severe cases.”

“Oh. Well, Madame Pomfrey did seem to think I was way too skinny and Professor Snape said I’m practically severely underweight, so maybe that’s why? And they said I missed a growth spurt or two.” Hari, to the others, seems way too calm. Internally, though, he’s freaking out, terrified that they’ll not want to be friends with him if they know all of this. They’ll figure out he’s too much trouble and not worth it.

“I—nope, not going there. What else happened? You were in there too long for weight to be the only problem,” Pansy says, rubbing at her temples.

“Madame Pomfrey healed some sores for me, but that was it.” Hari shrugs, nonchalant, not wanting them to see more of his ‘issues’.

“Sores… You mean like the ones on your arms?” Daphne reaches over, running a finger across his wrist.

“Yeah, like those.”

“You’re hiding something,” Blaise grumbles, poking him in the side, “that was an avoidance answer.”

“What?” Hari looks at him, wide-eyed, color draining from his tanned skin.

“What else did she heal? Everything. And what else are you going back for her to heal later?” The boy’s dark eyes bore into Hari’s until he relents.

Hari sighs and lists his injuries—burns, lashes, and the broken bone.

“Alright, I give up,” Daphne announces, eyes shimmering with tears. Hari sucks in a breath in horror; one friend already lost. Then, Daphne pounces, curling her arms around him and squeezing him tight and whispering comforting nonsense into his ear. Hari slowly brings his arms up to wrap around her as well. When she eventually releases him, Pansy takes her place, her arms stronger and harsher, but still caring. Then Blaise hugs him, trembling with anger and protective instinct. Draco hugs him last, slim fingers burrowing into the long curls and tucking Hari into his shoulder. The hug is soothing and caring and protective and, somehow, even better than the ones from the others. Maybe it’s because of Draco’s whispered promise.

“If it means I have to kidnap you away from them, you will not be going back there, I swear it.”

When Draco pulls away, Hari (not-so) subtly wipes at his eyes and pulls out the form for new glasses.

“So, who wants to pick out my new glasses?”

“Oh, yes! Those would’ve clashed so horribly with your new clothes,” Pansy snatches away the form, “I really hope you have a lot of money, Hari. I’m picking out the best pair I can find. Or two or three.”

“Three,” Daphne declares, “one daily pair, one back up pair, and one formal pair. And that’s minimum.”

The two start chatting about shapes and colors and the boys drag Hari away before he can protest.

“But… I don’t even know how much money I have,” Hari whispers.

“Hari, relax. Your family has at least five patents and, like, seven vaults, minimum,” Blaise rolls his eyes.

“You’re rich—maybe even richer than me,” Draco agrees. “You can come with us over Yule break and we’ll take you to Gringotts and get your will read. Then, you’ll know for sure.”

“I only have one key, though. How could I have seven vaults?” The other two boys glance at each other, then settle onto Blaise’s bed.

“Sit, Hari,” Draco orders, “We need to discuss the idea that this is all planned.”

Hari drops onto the head of the bed, studying their grim faces closely. “Planned?”

“Planned,” Blaise nods, “As in, Dumbledore has been controlling everything from the beginning.”

“Controlling everything? But—“ Hari’s eyes go wide with horror. “Wait, you mean he _knew_?”

“There’s nothing we can say for certain, yet. But with what we know right now, yes,” Draco sneers, “it looks like he knew.”

“How do we know for certain?”

“Well, first, let’s go over what we do know,” Blaise says, “He was angry you weren’t in Gryffindor. He let someone untrustworthy bring you to Diagon Alley, only showed you one vault, let muggles bring you to the platform without telling you how to get on, and then tried to convince you to re-Sort—and yes, Daphne told us that. Sorry if you told her in confidence, but she thought it was important.”

“No, no, I don’t mind that she told you,” Hari’s mind is whirling. “Only showing me one vault and telling Hagrid to get a certain amount from it would be controlling my access and freedoms. Having someone we’d consider untrustworthy take me to Diagon Alley would mean that person follows his instructions to the letter—more control to him. Re-Sorting, wanting me in Gryffindor specifically… There must be people there who he controls and wanted me to meet. But leaving me at the platform alone doesn’t make sense to me.”

“No, it… Wait!” Draco slaps a hand onto the bed, “What if that’s how he wanted you to meet them? The Gryffindor he’s banking on you becoming friends with.”

“Having someone lead you into this world would be a good basis of trust,” Blaise muses, “and it would mean you’d believe them about other things.”

“Like people who are trustworthy?” Hari asks monotonously.

Draco sucks in a breath, “Weasley! He tried to warn you away from me and Hagrid stuck you with him on the boats!”

“That’s gotta be him, then,” Hari agrees, “but only one person?”

“We can’t say any more, I don’t think,” Blaise grumbles, “until more happens. So, unfortunately, we’re stuck waiting. Especially since all of this is just speculation based on so-called circumstantial evidence.”

“Circumstantial?” Hari cocks his head, making him look like a puppy.

“He could easily argue that Hagrid was supposed to help you to the platform and didn’t and that he simply thought you’d want to be in your parents’ house and that bending the rules for you wouldn’t be a bad thing since you’ve had such a hard life.” Blaise is drumming his fingers against the bed spread. “He could even argue that your… childhood influenced his willingness to bend the rules for you.” Hari groans and flops forward so his forehead was on the bed, curls spread around him.

“Relax, Hari,” Draco pokes Hari’s part, “we’ll find a way to prove it. We just need evidence that isn’t circumstantial.”

“Like what?”

“He only showed you one vault. Maybe that’s because he’s doing something with the others. If he is, then that isn’t circumstantial. Especially since it’s without your knowledge,” Draco grins at the next statement, “And the goblins don’t take kindly to people messing with their vaults.”

“So, essentially, we have to wait until I go to Gringotts to find out?”

“Exactly,” Draco nods sharply, smiling like he’s proud of Hari. It fades at his next thought. “Did you keep your key or return it to Hagrid?”

Hari pales, “I gave it back. I didn’t think I’d need it during the school year.”

“Okay, it’s okay.” Blaise sets a comforting hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Calm down, Draco. It’ll be alright. Gringotts doesn’t have an age restriction for who’s in control of the vaults. If Hari goes in and removes Dumbledore as a benefactor, then asks them to reverse all transactions Dumbledore has made, they will.” He turns to Hari, “I’m not entirely certain about that last bit, but I think I heard one of my step-fathers talking about it.”

“I’m still writing to my parents right away,” Draco announces, sounding irritated. Hari smiles at this.

“Probably a good idea to bring some adults in on this. Just… be careful what you write. Technically it’s not legal to interfere with owl-post, but if Dumbledore is willing to leave Hari somewhere he’d be hurt like that,” Blaise offers an apologetic look for bringing it up, which Hari accepts with a slight nod, “then I wouldn’t put it past him to open all our mail.”

“I’ll charm it so the ink vanishes if opened by anyone other than my parents.” When Blaise agrees to this idea, Draco stands and crosses to his desk, settling in to write the letter. Blaise starts telling Hari about different spells he’d been taught as a child and how one of his bedroom walls had birds charmed to fly on it.

After lunch, where Hari ate an apple and a chicken leg with copious amounts of juice and collected another shake from Professor Snape, they all went up to the owlry. Draco sent his letter using Hedwig and Hari signed off on all the purchases, including the three pairs of glasses, and sent off the order request forms with the school owls. Then, they went and made themselves comfortable in the Astronomy tower until they had to leave for dinner.

* * *

Severus and Minerva meet after dinner to chat over tea. Quite literally over tea, Minerva notices, since Severus hasn’t taken a single sip since arriving.

“Alright,” she finally sighs, setting her cup down, “what’s wrong?”

“What do you know about Mr. Potter’s life before coming here?”

“Well, given he’s been here two days, not very much. Why?”

“You never inquired to Dumbledore about it?”

“No,” she leans forward, looking him square in the eye, “should I have?”

“Dumbledore always told me, every time I asked, that Hari was quite happy, living in a large room, with lots of toys, and doing well in school. That he was spoiled and loved so much we couldn’t imagine it.”

“I take it that wasn’t true, then?”

“Quite the opposite, really. Did you see how his letter was addressed? I only checked it a few hours ago.”

“I didn’t, those are addressed and sent with magic,” Minerva frowns, “no reason to check if it’s correct.”

“The initial letter,” Severus says, drawing an envelope out of his pocket, “was addressed as such.”

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs,_

_4, Privet Drive,_

_Little Whinging,_

_Surrey_

Minerva has to take a deep breath, placing it in the center of the table, before she can bring herself to speak. “I believe we need to have a chat with Albus, then. And to spell his name incorrectly, to top it off.”

“That’s not even the half of it.”

“No? Stop being so cryptic, Severus,” she gives him a flat look, mouth pinched in displeasure, “just spit it out. Bluntly, if you please.”

“Hari is five inches shorter than his typical peer, two inches under the typical growth for his age. I wouldn’t be concerned about that, except that both Lily and James were on the tall end for their age when they came to Hogwarts. Not to mention that his weight is a good 10 pounds under where he should be for his height, let alone his age. And I haven’t even mentioned the scarring.”

“I beg your pardon?” Anger flashes in Minerva’s eyes and she sits ramrod straight in her chair.

“Lashings and burnings, one of his arms was broken and didn’t set right, his glasses prescription had never actually been checked, and he was repeatedly kicked and slapped,” Severus rolls his eyes to the ceiling, recalling all the illnesses, as well. “Any time he got sick, he was left to suffer and never saw a doctor. He’s had pneumonia twice. Without treatment.”

“He’s lucky to be alive,” Minerva sighs.

“Yes. And, to top it all off, he hasn’t received vaccinations since James and Lily died.”

“And now he’s so malnourished, he has to wait to get them?”

“Precisely.”

“I suppose I should speak with Poppy before I storm off to scream at Albus,” Minerva grumbles, “not to mention seeing Mr. Potter for longer than the Sorting ceremony.”

“That probably would be wise,” Severus agrees begrudgingly. “And we should probably try to find some proof that Dumbledore knew this was going on.”

“He had to know,” Minerva snarls, “given that he was Hari’s magical guardian. We’ll be changing that as quickly as possible.”

“I should inform you that the majority of his year in Slytherin are quite taken with him and at least one will be getting their parents involved.” Severus smirks, “I would expect the Malfoys to be the first contacted.”

“Your children were up in the owlry using quite a few school owls earlier.”

“Ah, yes, the mission to correct the travesty that was Mr. Potter’s wardrobe.”

“Ms. Parkinson, Ms. Greengrass, and Mr. Zabini were involved?”

“Mr. Malfoy kicked up a fuss about what colors Hari should be wearing, particularly because he felt there wasn’t enough silver in the order.”

Minerva chuckles, “the Malfoy family color, of course.”

“Of course,” Severus grins. “And wait until you see Mr. Potter’s new hairstyle. Ms. Greengrass is quite talented.”

“How glad I am that I’ll be seeing him first thing tomorrow, in that case,” Minerva lifts her tea, “and how is the Young Master Malfoy?” Severus groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing a laugh from Minerva.

“That boy is a pain in my ass and I have no clue what I’m going to do now that _I _have him full time instead of his father.”

“He can’t be any worse than your other Slytherins.”

“Oh, yes, he can. I’m his godfather, he has absolutely no respect for me.”

Minerva outright laughs at this and Severus attempts to glower, though it looks more like he’s pouting.


	3. Plotted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'm putting these up a little too fast, but I'm having so much fun writing this series and I did promise to post a chapter whenever I finished writing a chapter, so...
> 
> In any event, I've written two full chapters for the second book, which is looking like it will end up being a bit shorter than this first one, but still a decent length. Since the third book looks like it could easily be the longest, I'm thinking about taking some of the concepts for that one and working them into book two, which would make it rival this first one in length, and possibly make the third a bit more moderate.
> 
> This chapter is a bit more fluffy and fun, I'll throw in a warning for implied violence at the end, but there's nothing direct. Let me know what you think!  
~Mav

“Gather around, first years,” Professor Snape calls once the upper years have all received their schedules, “These will be your schedules for the rest of the year. I expect one for each of you should ensure the entire class manages to find their way to the right place at the right time for the year, yes? It’s at least eight extras.” Hari accepts the slip of paper from the professor, who shoos the others away a bit. “Mr. Potter, your packages have arrived, so you may collect them after classes. Here are your drinks for the day and the potions.”

Hari downs the three potions as quickly as possible and stuffs the drinks into his bag.

“I trust Mr. Malfoy will ensure you drink both of those at the appropriate times?”

Hari laughs, “if he doesn’t, Pansy, Daphne, or Blaise will be on my case about it.”

“Very well,” Professor Snape seems to almost smile for a moment, “this is the package from the optician. I presumed you would like to see on your first day.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Hari beams up at him, accepting the package. With the hair pulled away from his face, his scar is on full display, but so are his eyes. They are so much like Lily’s, Severus almost flinches. But he holds himself together and Hari walks away without another word.

“Pansy, Daphne, which pair am I supposed to wear?”

“The bronze ones,” Daphne tells him.

“They’re all bronze!”

“No! These are bronze, these are rust colored, and these—your formal pair—are silver!”

“And you expect me to see this how? I don’t have a pair on!”

“For Godric’s sake, Hari!” Pansy wails, “put these on. Draco, put the others in your room. Then, we really have to go to class.”

“Why do I always get sent on errands?” Draco whines, but takes them anyway.

“Okay,” Blaise calls when Draco returns, “is everyone ready?” Crabbe, Goyle, Theo, Tracey, and Millicent are already gone, so the five of them huddle up, Draco’s arm wrapped around Hari’s shoulder, and the girls arm-in-arm while Blaise leads the way.

“Hari, when we get there, I’m re-doing your hair,” Daphne informs him.

“Did I not do it right?”

“No, it’s fine, I just want to put the bottom half down.”

“Huh?”

“You did a full ponytail, but I think a half pony would be cuter. At least for the first day. And it would show off how long your hair is now.”

“That’s alright then. You’d tell me if I did it wrong, right?”

“Do I seem like the kind of person not to?” The whole group laughs while Hari reassures her that no, she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to ignore it if it was wrong.

They find open desks at Transfiguration, collecting on one side of the room while the Gryffindors huddle on the other.

“Sit, Hari,” Daphne points to a chair and Draco takes the one next to it. Daphne’s fingers are gentle as they brush through his hair, separating out the half that she wants to leave down and twisting the top half into a tight, messy bun at the back of his head. “There, that’s much better.” Daphne sighs, tracing a single curl. “I’m so jealous of your curls, honestly.”

“Curls would look nice on you,” Hari agrees. “I’m not entirely certain where they came from.”

“Your dad was Indian and your mum had naturally curly hair. That’s where it came from,” Draco informs him with a little eye-roll.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” This earns him odd looks that quickly turn into wide-eyed horror.

“Merlin,” Blaise breathes, “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“I’m sorry, Hari,” Draco reaches out, gripping his wrist, “I didn’t mean to sound so rude. It hadn’t occurred to me that you wouldn’t have been told about your parents.”

“It’s alright, Draco,” Hari reassures him with a smile, “Until I met Hagrid, the Dursleys had told me they died by driving drunk and getting in a car wreck.”

“I don’t know what a car is, but your parents definitely weren’t drunks. They were quite young when you were born and, as far as I know, never really got into drinking,” Pansy begins to lecture, “in fact, when your mum got pregnant, it became well-known that your father and all his friends stopped drinking and followed a pregnancy diet in solidarity with her. If class weren’t about to start, I’d tell you more, but as it is, I think I’ll just get you a book.”

“Really? That’d be wonderful!” Hari’s practically vibrating in his seat with excitement and the others can’t help but smile at him.

“Of course,” Pansy pats him on the cheek, “I’ll write Mother today.”

“I know that Uncle Sev knew your mum when they were young,” Draco adds, “maybe he can tell you a bit about her.” Just then, the tabby cat on the desk jumps down and changes into Professor McGonagall, who walks their way.

“Good morning,” she calls, earning a chorused response from the students. “And, Mr. Potter, I would be more than happy to discuss some of your father’s antics with you during a free hour sometime. Simply let me know ahead of time so I can clear it for you.”

Just then, Ron Weasley comes sprinting into the room and skitters to a stop in front of the professor.

“Mr. Weasley. Are you in need of a watch?”

“No, ma’am,” his voice trembles, “I just got lost.”

“A map, then. I trust you can find your seat,” she sweeps a hand towards the empty spot in the middle of the room and makes her way back up to the front. “Welcome to Transfiguration. If you would take out your books…”

* * *

“Father responded to my letter,” Draco announces two weeks into school at breakfast as they are giggling over Seamus, Neville, and Ron all managing to blow up their cauldrons.

“That took a while,” Blaise attempts to stop laughing. “I would’ve thought he’d have gotten back to you the next day.”

Draco shrugs and opens the letter, slipping a piece of bacon to the large eagle on the table in front of him. The bird flies off and Draco’s eyes flash across the page.

“Well,” he says when he’s done reading, “that’s interesting.”

“What is it?” Pansy asks, but everyone leans in.

“Apparently, the Potter’s will was never actually read. Father did some digging after I wrote him about… everything,” Draco folds the letter back up and slips it into the envelope, sealing it again. “He said that Dumbledore was supposed to order the will read in the event that Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew weren’t able to. Pettigrew was killed, Black sent to Azkaban, and Lupin caught ill because of the full moon.”

“Oh, goodness,” Daphne sighs, “we were right?”

“It looks like it. Since Dumbledore clearly won’t order the will read, Hari will have to,” Draco continues, “But not only that, it was apparently on Dumbledore’s orders that Black was sent to Azkaban without a trial.”

“Can you blame him, though?” Blaise asks incredulously.

“What happened?” Hari cuts in.

“Ah, Black was one of your parent’s best friends, right? So, when they went on the run from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they used something called a Fidelius Charm. It means that no one could find their house, even those who had been there before, without being told the address by the Secret Keeper. A Secret Keeper is someone chosen by the person under the Fidelius who is trusted enough to keep the location secret. Black was your parents’. By all rights, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named should never have been able to find the house. Because he did, it was assumed that Black had told him the location and secretly been a Death Eater,” Draco explains. “Black showed up after your parents were killed, killed Pettigrew and twelve muggles in a massive explosion, and was hauled off to Azkaban laughing like a maniac. He honestly seemed like someone who had lost their mind.”

Hari is pale and silent after finding this out.

“Dumbledore is the reason no one contested him not getting a trial,” Pansy adds, “because he was the one who performed the charm, so he knew that Black was the Secret Keeper. There was no need for a trial once he came out with that information.”

Hari nods and picks at his food.

“I know it’s difficult news,” Draco murmurs, “but please do eat. You need to get healthy.”

“How long until the Yule holidays so we can see the goblins?” Hari mutters bitterly.

“Too long. But we’ll survive, yes? After all, we have our Astrology lesson tonight.”

“And Potions tomorrow, too,” Hari adds with a small smile. He takes another bite of eggs and, with that, it seems all is right with the world again.

* * *

At three-thirty on a Thursday afternoon a few weeks later, Hari, Draco, and the other Slytherins hurry down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It is a clear, breezy day, and the grass ripples under their feet as they march down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees are swaying darkly in the distance.

There are twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Hari had heard several older students complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left. The Gryffindors race in barely on time.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrives. She has short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barks. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Hari glances down at his broom. It is old and some of the twigs stick out at odd angles.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” calls Madam Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouts. Hari’s broom jumps into his hand at once, but it is one of the few that does. Hermione Granger’s simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville’s doesn’t moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, can tell when you were afraid, thought Hari; there is a quaver in Neville’s voice that says only too clearly that he wants to keep his feet on the ground. Draco’s jumps up on the second try and the others in Slytherin all get theirs within the first five.

Madam Hooch then shows them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walks up and down the rows correcting their grips. Draco’s cheeks go pink when Madam Hooch corrects him—he’d been bragging about his flying all week.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—”

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushes off hard before the whistle even touches Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, boy!” she shouts, but Neville is rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. Hari watches his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, sees him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and—

WHAM—a thud and a nasty crack and Neville is laying facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick is still rising higher and higher, and starts to drift lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch is bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

“Broken wrist,” Hari hears her mutter. “Come on, boy — it’s all right, up you get.” She turns to the rest of the class. “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’. Come on, dear.”

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbles off with Madam Hooch, who has her arm around him.

Draco starts to laugh, but freezes when Hari glares at him.

“What?”

“Did you see how scared he was? That’s not funny, Draco.” Draco pouts a bit, but doesn’t laugh anymore. The problem arises when Weasley scoops up Neville’s Remembrall and starts joking about throwing it. The other boy Gryffindors are giggling along with him. The girls roll their eyes.

“Do they really think that’s okay just because they’re in the same House?”

“What, Potter, you don’t think it’s funny?” Weasley sneers.

“No, I don’t think it’s funny to joke about breaking someone else’s property.” Hari stares him down, but Weasley just smirks more.

“Well, if it’s that important to you,” Weasley calls up his broom, mounts, and flies up about fifteen feet, “then, go and get it.” Hari manages to get up to the same height as Weasley before he actually throws the Remembrall and takes off, swooping around to catch it easily.

He returns to the class and lands lightly next to Draco, setting his broom back down.

“Hermione,” he calls to the group of girls, “would you see that this gets back to Neville safely, please?” She looks shocked that he’s even speaking to her, but accepts it gratefully and assures him multiple times that she won’t break it. Then, Professor Snape sweeps out of the castle.

“Mr. Weasley, I do believe Madam Hooch told the class to stay on the ground, yes?” Weasley gulps, going pale. “That’ll be fifty points from Gryffindor and a week’s detention with me. Mr. Potter, if you would come with me, please.” Hari shivers slightly, hands shaking.

“Hey,” Draco whispers into his ear, “Uncle Sev doesn’t look mad to me. You won’t be in trouble, I don’t think.” Hari calms a little at this—if Draco says Professor Snape isn’t mad, then he probably isn’t.

Hari hurries to follow Professor Snape inside. He can hear Weasley ranting about the detentions on the field. It’s rather ungrateful of him, Hari can’t help but think, given that Madam Hooch had threatened expulsion.

“Now, Mr. Potter, I’m certain you are aware that first-years are not typically allowed on House Quidditch teams or, for that matter, to even have brooms at school.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, I suppose you understand the immensity of the responsibility I’m about to grant you.”

“Sir?”

“The Slytherin team is in grave need of a new Seeker. Our current one is… well, suffice to say, we could use a new player,” Severus looks down at the wide-eyed boy next to him. “Our captain is Marcus Flint. I’m taking you to meet him, now, and you two can discuss times for training. When you come to get your potions today, I will help you order a new broom.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, Mr. Potter, that I would like you to play for our House team. Unless, of course, you would like to join Mr. Weasley in detention?” A slim eyebrow rises on Professor Snape’s forehead. Hari giggles a little at that.

“No, sir, I’d much rather play.”

“Good. And I’m sure you’ll be up to a nearly-healthy weight by the end of this week?”

Hari shrinks into himself a little, “I’m trying, sir.”

“I know, Mr. Potter, and none of this is your fault,” Professor Snape places a gentle hand on Hari’s shoulder, “but it would be best if you put on extra weight before beginning a new sport. Still, catching that during your first flying lesson is no small feat, so I cannot deny your natural skill. A few sessions practicing with the Snitch and some time studying strategy and I think you’ll do excellently.”

Hari grins up at him and they continue on to find Flint, who is ecstatic at the prospect of a new Seeker.

“Our current one is rubbish,” he informs Hari, “although I’m certain Professor Snape was too polite to say that.”

“He was,” Hari agrees.

“Well, welcome to the team,” he shakes Hari’s hand, “we practice Thursday evenings, although I’ll let you miss this one. I’d rather work with you one-on-one before bringing you to a full practice.” They arrange to meet on Saturday after breakfast, while most of the upper-years would be at Hogsmeade.

Hari catches up to the others in the dorm.

“There you are, Hari!” Pansy shouts, unnecessarily loudly, and throws her arms around him. “What happened?”

“Professor Snape put me on the Quidditch team,” Hari announces with a proud smile, “I’m going to play Seeker.” He’s mobbed by the others at that, crushed into hugs and shrieked at about how exciting the whole thing is.

“And just think,” Draco snickers, “Weasley is stuck in detention, scrubbing cauldrons, for a whole week.” The whole room laughs at that, even Hari. It’s hard to feel bad for someone who brought it on themselves.

“He’ll blow up when he finds out,” Blaise gasps out between chortles.

“Won’t he _just_?” Daphne giggles and falls into Pansy, causing them both to tumble onto one of the beds.

When they’ve all collected themselves, they settle back into doing homework for Charms the next day. Dinner rolls around quickly to give them a break. Hari selects a Nimbus 2000 with Professor Snape that evening and falls asleep with a small smile on his face.

* * *

The Halloween feast creeps up on them quickly, and before they know it, mid-term exams have passed and they’re sitting at the feast with jack-o’-lanterns glowing overhead.

“I recognize that Halloween is a time for sweets, but could there be a little less dessert at the table and a little more actual _dinner_?” Pansy whines. Draco, who has received sweets from his parents twice every week for the entire year, blinks owlishly at her from around a bite of treacle tart.

“I wouldn’t object, except it’s not like I can eat much, anyway.”

“Listen, sweetie, the point of Halloween is to eat so much candy you puke,” Daphne says like she’s lecturing a toddler, “so you eat as much as your little stomach can handle and more. I’ll hold your hair back when you need me to later, okay?”

“No!” Draco cuts in, “no eating until you puke, Hari. He needs his weight to go up, Daphne. He’s struggling to gain as it is, we don’t need to add getting sick into the mix.”

“Party pooper,” Daphne huffs.

“You realize he’s eating more sweets than any of us, right?” Blaise points out, to which Daphne rolls her eyes.

“Whatever, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back.” She leaves and it’s just a minute later when the doors slam open.

Quirrell sprints in, shrieking about a troll in the dungeons as loud as he can. Then, he faints and the Hall goes into an uproar. Dumbledore quiets the Hall using a sonorous charm and informing everyone to return to their dormitories, which the other Houses have no trouble doing.

“Wait—our dormitory is in the dungeon!” Hari yells and the whole Slytherin table starts shouting up at the head table. Professor Snape stands and approaches the table, which gets quieter with every step he takes.

“I realize you think it unsafe. It is highly unlikely that the troll could get into the area the Slytherin House is in due to the narrow corridors. Follow Ms. Farley and take the passage behind the boy’s bathroom. Trolls are simply too large to fit there.” With these words, he sweeps away, leaving Gemma in charge.

“Alright, everyone, this way! Stay calm and stay close, it won’t take us long to get there!” She continues calling reassurances the entire way down to the dorm. It’s only as they’re reaching the dorm, however, that the first years realize Daphne still isn’t with them.

“Gemma!” Hari darts over to her, “Daphne went to the bathroom just before Professor Quirrell came in—she doesn’t know about the troll!”

“Shoot,” Gemma whispers, “okay, you all go in, I’ll take the other prefects and go fetch her. Five points for not rushing off yourself.” Gemma doesn’t wait until they’re all inside to leave with the other prefects. The four first years cuddle up together on a couch to wait, staring at the door impatiently. Sooner than expected but later than their young hearts could handle, Daphne darts through the door entirely unharmed.

“Thank Merlin, you’re safe,” Pansy cries, leaping across the room to hug her. It quickly turns into a group hug.

“Thank you for telling Gemma when you did,” Daphne replies, “the troll ended up in the bathroom just after she and the other prefects got to me. They held it off while I escaped. I’m sure Professor Snape will be in shortly to discuss it with me.”

“Well, for now, let’s just go lay down and listen to Draco read,” Blaise suggests, snagging a book off the shelf and making his way to the boy’s dorm. Soon, all five are settled on a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor between Draco’s and Hari’s beds. Draco’s voice is soft and soothing as he reads, weaving the book into a world around them.

“As adorable as this is,” Professor Snape yanks them out of it, “I need to speak to Ms. Greengrass. And Mr. Potter, I believe you have some potions to collect from me, yes?” Hari groans and whines as he stands and the others snicker at his dramatics. It’s all over quickly, though, and they’re back where they started, curled up together in a puppy pile with Draco reading them to sleep.

Hari wakes the next day with his head on Draco’s shoulder, Blaise draped across their legs, and Pansy and Daphne snuggled on either side of Hari and Draco.

His heart warms and he realizes _this_ is what family is supposed to be like.


	4. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being too nice. But, you know, here's a fourth chapter. And I imagine the fifth will be up tomorrow. I'm about a fifth of the way to my goal length for book two at the end of chapter three. It's turning out to not be quite as horribly dull as I thought it would be.
> 
> In this one, Hari plays Quidditch and there's some minor mentions of abuse and neglect. If that's a trigger for you, tread with caution after the line break.
> 
> That said, let's welcome Lucius and Narcissa back!  
~Mav

The day of the Quidditch match is upon them, a cool, crisp November day, with nerves pooling in Hari’s gut and excitement in the others’.

“C’mon, you have to eat at least a little or you won’t be able to fly,” Draco cajoles in one of numerous attempts to get Hari to eat more than one bite in a row.

Hari shakes his head. “Full,” he mumbles, “besides, you put more on my plate than usual. And anyway, I’m only five pounds underweight now, instead of eleven.”

“Still,” Draco huffs, “you’re going to go do a ton of exercise. You need more energy than normal.”

“No more.” Hari pushes the plate away from himself and it vanishes, collected by whatever system cleans the castle.

“What did Madam Pomfrey say about your arm at your last visit?” Blaise asks, shoveling another bite of hash browns into his mouth.

“She thinks in another week or two, it’ll be ready to re-break. She would’ve done it this week, but didn’t want to risk it not healing fully before the game and she said the results were borderline acceptable and she’d rather see them fully in her comfort zone.”

“Didn’t she tell you she’d fix it that first week of school?” Pansy pipes in.

“I don’t question her. If she says my bone won’t heal properly, I believe her.” Hari shrugs and takes a sip of juice.

“And yet, you can’t believe us when we say you’ll be fine at the game today,” Daphne says with an eye roll.

“You know what,” Draco slams his fork down and Hari jumps away. Draco’s hands rise in a surrender position. “Sorry, Hari. I didn’t mean to do that so hard. Anyway, come with me. I think you should see this.”

They hurry through the castle, only having a few minutes before Hari would need to leave for the game.

“Here we are,” Draco stops in front of the Quidditch trophies. “This one, here, read it.”

“That’s—that’s my dad’s name,” Hari murmurs with awe.

“Your dad was one of the best Quidditch players at Hogwarts. You get your skills from him. Go out there and do him proud, okay?”

Hari grins at Draco, “okay.”

They race down to the Slytherin changing room and drop Hari off, leaving to go bundle up to watch the match.

“Gather ‘round, please,” Flint calls. Miles Bletchley groans and looks at Hari.

“It’s the same speech every year, if you can even call it a speech.”

“We’re bringing home the Cup once more for Slytherin. We go out, score a bunch, keep our lead until the snitch is caught by our Seeker—this year, that’s Hari. Let’s do this.” They all cheer, grab their brooms, then line up at the entrance.

“Do me a favor, Hari,” Flint says just before they walk out, “wait until we’ve got something like a fifty-point lead to catch the snitch. I’d like to start out the season with a hefty lead.”

“I can do that,” Hari agrees, though he’s not entirely certain he can.

Madam Hooch calls them onto the Pitch and, given the way Lee Jordan speaks about them, Gryffindor is clearly the fan-favorite here. But then, that’s nothing new, is it?

The captains shake hands and then, they’re off. Hari finds a safe spot with a good view of the entire pitch to settle, shifting lazily around the pitch when he feels the need for a different vantage point.

They’re up by thirty points when his broom jerks. Flint eyes him warily and Hari wishes he could reassure him, but his broom keeps jerking.

“What’s going on with his broom?” Draco hisses to Blaise.

“I don’t know! It’s a brand-new broom.”

“It almost looks like it’s being jinxed,” Pansy whispers.

“Look at the teachers’ stands!” Daphne gestures over subtly. Sure enough, both Professors Snape and Quirrell are making non-stop eye-contact with Hari’s broom.

“We’ve got to distract them, make them break eye contact,” Draco frets, picking at his thumbnail.

“But which one is casting the jinx and which is the counter?” Pansy asks.

“Uncle Sev would never hurt a member of his own House,” Draco glares at her, “so Quirrell is obviously the one casting the jinx.”

“What should we do?” Daphne wonders.

“I’ll handle it,” Blaise says and disappears down the stands. A minute later, they see all the teachers whip around looking at something on Professor Quirrell. Hari’s broom stops jerking.

He clambers back on, glances around, and notices a gold glint. Without hesitating, he dives. They’re up by forty, anyway, and he could really use some solid land right about now.

He almost flips forward off his broom in his attempt to catch it, but manages to wrap his fingers around it just in time to pull out of the dive safely. Holding it up so Madam Hooch can see, he ends the game cleanly.

“Hari,” Flint grabs his shoulder inside the changing room, “what was that with your broom?”

“I have no idea,” Hari tells him. “It just started jerking around.”

“Best have the broom looked at, then. Don’t want it to be cursed, yes?” Hari agrees and changes quickly, racing off to find Draco and the others.

“There you are,” Draco shouts when he gets back to the dorm after having fought his way through the crowd of people in the common room. He’s wrapped in Draco’s long arms before he can say a word. “Quirrell jinxing your broom was terrifying! I could hardly breathe!”

“Yeah, okay, Draco, we get it,” Blaise tugs at his shoulder, “but maybe you should give Hari enough space to breathe. He’s looking a little blue.” Draco lets go immediately and Hari takes a deep breath gratefully.

“Sorry, Hari,” Draco says sheepishly, a little blush on his cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Hari assures him.

“Come tell us everything!” Daphne demands, patting the bed in front of her.

Hari and Draco get comfy on the pillows at the head of the bed with the others lounging at the foot.

Apparently, watching a Quidditch game means nothing when you can get first-hand stories from one of the players. Or, at least, that’s true for this odd little group.

* * *

“Ugh,” Draco flops onto his bed after their last exam, “that was horrible.”

“Shut up, you know you did great. You and Granger are always challenging each other for top spot.” Hari rolls his eyes at Draco’s dramatics and re-does his hair so only half is pulled up.

“Exams are still horrible.”

“But at least you didn’t do horribly,” Hari points out.

“Neither did you,” Draco argues.

“Both of you shut up. Hari, you’re just behind Draco in every class except History of Magic, where you’re two, and Defense, where you’re top. Let the rest of us plebeians suffer in peace,” Blaise snaps, throwing himself down onto his bed and shoving his face into his pillow.

“Oh, it’s so _dramatic_,” Pansy croons, pretending to swoon. Daphne giggles next to her.

“Okay, come on, guys. Get back up.” The girls cajole them back into upright positions. “Time for a hospital visit, Hari!” Hari groans, but lets them drag him through the castle and up to Madame Pomfrey.

“There you are, Mr. Potter,” she says when they arrive. “And friends.”

“Hello, Madame Pomfrey,” the group choruses.

“Now, let’s see, come on over to this bed,” she shoos him to the nearest bed. When Hari is seated, she casts several spells, which Draco studies intently. “Good, good. I’m quite pleased with your progress. You’re only down four pounds, now, that’s quite an improvement. Your nutrient levels have continued going up steadily, that’s very good. Muscle is looking better developed and you’ve grown a full centimeter, well done. As for bone density, it looks healthy enough for me to be comfortable resetting it. Would you like me to do that now or sometime over the Yule break?”

“Now, please,” Hari says, reaching for Draco. The other boy takes his hand and sits on the bed as closely as possible, clutching Hari’s trembling hand between both of his.

“Very well. I’ll be using a spell to break it and then another to heal it,” Madam Pomfrey tells him as she summons a potion. “This is a pain reliever, take it now.” Hari swallows it quickly and it doesn’t taste nearly as bad as the ones he has to take every day.

“There you go, now, this shouldn’t hurt too much. Really, it shouldn’t feel like more than an uncomfortable pressure.”

Hari nods and lifts his arm to her. Blaise sits on the bed behind him and places his hands on Hari’s shoulders. Both he and Draco whisper comforting words while Madam Pomfrey casts the spells. A cracking sound causes everyone in the room to flinch.

“There you are, dear, all done,” she smiles at him, “it should be done mending fairly quickly, but I’d like you to stay here for an hour or two to make sure it goes correctly.”

Hari and Draco take the head of the bed, Hari leaning on Draco’s shoulder, and the others seat themselves around them. Pansy hands Draco a book to read.

“I’ve been meaning to get around to this one,” she tells him, “but Blaise always gets to you before I can.”

When Poppy comes back an hour later to check on Hari, she finds four teens practically dozing and Draco completely absorbed into the story, his voice practically weaving the fictional world into existence around them. He glances up when he hears her footsteps, but doesn’t stop reading, instead holding up a finger.

A minute or two later, he slips a bookmark in between the pages and closes the book. Protests come from the rest of the group automatically.

“Madam Pomfrey is here,” Draco cuts them off.

“Oh,” Hari turns, blinking at her, then fumbles around for his glasses and slips them back on. “You’re here to check my arm.”

“Yes, dear,” Poppy approaches, wand out, “it will only take a moment.” A wave of her wand and she notes that the bone has fully healed and is sturdy as it should be. “You’re all set, then, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey!” The group jumps up as Hari does and they scurry out of the hospital wing, discussing the book they had been reading. Poppy turns to see Minerva waiting next to her desk.

“So, what were you saying about Albus?”

“I was saying that we’re going to need to have a long talk with him about how children are humans, not pieces of meat,” Minerva sniffs, “he honestly expects Hari to return to that house at the end of the school year.”

“And what, exactly, does he think the benefit of that could be?” Poppy asks, aghast.

“He’s claiming blood wards, but honestly, seeing how Hari has, quite literally, latched onto the first people to show him kindness, I think it’s for malleability.”

Poppy sits across from Minerva, “what do you mean?”

“I think he intended Hari to create that type of friendship with someone specific, likely a Gryffindor, and someone that Albus would be able to control Hari through,” Minerva drums her fingers on the edge of the desk, “I think he’s been planning Hari’s life this entire time and he was banking on the Dursleys treating Hari horribly.”

“Oh, Albus,” Poppy sighs, “what a greedy old man you are.”

“Indeed,” Minerva murmurs, “now, tell me, how is Hari’s health progressing?”

Down in the dorms, the children have packed up everything they’re taking home with them. Hari, quite gratefully, will be going with Draco and has packed all the nicest things he bought.

“So, a full centimeter, huh?” Blaise snickers.

“Shut up!” Hari throws a pillow at him. “It’s almost half an inch!”

“Then, by the end of the year, you’ll have grown about an inch? If the trend continues?”

“Hopefully, it speeds up. But they can’t up the growth potion until I’m well into healthy weight.”

“Better keep gaining weight, then.”

“I’m _trying_!” Hari throws another pillow at him. Blaise just laughs.

“Guys,” Draco interrupts, “we should go to sleep. The train leaves pretty early tomorrow.”

“It’s too early to sleep,” Blaise whines.

“My potions make me drowsy, so I could sleep whenever.”

“Stop undermining me, Hari,” Blaise groans, “some friend you are.”

“What?” Hari smirks, “I’m just being honest. Didn’t you want me to be honest just last week?”

“Oh, Merlin, we’ve corrupted you.” Blaise’s eyes are wide. Hari snickers and cuddles up under his blankets.

“You’ll get me up in the morning, Dray?”

“Of course.” Draco sets his wand out, alarm set, and snuggles into his own bed. Blaise huffs about it, but follows their lead and, contrary to his own words, falls asleep rather quickly.

“Hari, up. You have to get ready before we get on the train.” Draco heaves Hari’s duvet off him.

“But I’m tired,” Hari whines up at him, glaring through his eyelashes.

“I laid your outfit out, collected your potions from Uncle Sev, Daphne agreed to do your hair on the train, and we’ve got breakfast bundled up for the ride.”

Hari opens his eyes and glances at the hook where, sure enough, an outfit is hanging. A deep silver button down with dark wash jeans, formal boots, and a matching belt. His deep charcoal robes are there and his dark green cloak is hanging behind them, the clasp a shining silver lily.

“Fi-ine,” Hari caves, forcing himself to stand. He moves quickly and is ready to get to the train in hardly ten minutes.

“Make sure you put your bag in the center of the room,” Draco instructs, pointing to where the luggage has been piled for the house elves to transfer. Hari does as told and they meet the girls in the common room, leaving the castle as a group. Just as they’re about to step off the grounds and into Hosmeade, however, Dumbledore calls out to them.

“Mr. Potter, my boy, where are you going?” Hari turns and has to fight not to glare at him.

“To spend Christmas with my friends.” Hari’s voice is clipped as tension runs through his body. Draco wraps an arm around his waist and Blaise around Hari’s neck. The girls step in close, too, watching the Headmaster warily.

“I’m afraid, Harry, that I cannot allow that. Children can only leave the castle to return to their families,” Dumbledore’s eye twinkles as he speaks. Draco stiffens.

“Actually, Headmaster,” the blonde sneers, “you’re mistaken. According to my father—a Governor of this school—a student can leave for breaks with friends if they so choose, with no note to the school from parents or guardians necessary.”

“Ah—“

Draco doesn’t let Dumbledore get even a word out, “if you’ll excuse us, we have a train to catch and if we dally much longer, we’ll be late.”

“Have a good break, Headmaster,” Daphne and Pansy chime in unison, their smiles falling flat and tone vaguely threatening.

They turn and keep walking and, once out of earshot, Draco turns to Hari.

“Don’t worry, even if he’d managed to keep us from getting on the train, Father would have been able to come pick us up. A Governor is allowed on Hogwarts grounds without having to forewarn the Headmaster.” Hari huffs out a laugh and then, they’re all giggling. Eleven-year-olds outsmarting the all-knowing, Greatest-Wizard-of-this-Age, Albus Dumbledore.

“Well, then,” Blaise chuckles, clambering onto the train, “that was interesting.”

Thankfully, there’s still an open compartment, so the group slips in. It feels rather open at first, compared to the ride to school, with Hari at Daphne’s feet while she carefully arranges his hair into a neat French braid that ends in a bun, with a few select curls left out to frame his face.

“Are we going to talk about that or ignore it?” Pansy asks, digging through her purse for the food they’d smuggled. The expanding charm placed on it is arguably her best friend.

“We’ll talk about it. After we eat,” Draco decides for them. He smiles down at Hari and helps him up to sit between Draco and Blaise.

“Okay, we have fruit and sausages,” Pansy lists, setting the items between herself and Daphne, “and some hard-boiled eggs and I managed to snatch some croissants and sticky buns.”

“Oooh, could I have some of the raspberries and blackberries, and a hard-boiled egg, and a sticky bun?”

“Eat the fruit and the egg first, then you can have the bun,” Daphne allows, passing a small bowl of berries with an egg balanced precariously on top. Hari smiles to himself, trying not to laugh. He’s been managing his own diet the entire year, not that you’d know it with the way his friends feed him.

“Alright,” he agrees. He’ll take the mothering if it means he gets friends like them. He chomps through the egg first, Madam Pomfrey’s voice about needing protein echoing in his head. They divvy up the rest of the food and eat quietly, the only speech coming when Hari asks for his sticky bun or someone requests for one of the drinks to be passed.

“Now can we talk about Dumbledore?” Daphne asks, passing around wipes to clean their fingers with.

“We definitely need to,” Blaise agrees.

“Hmm,” Hari leans onto Draco’s shoulder, “that was weird. But I can’t say it was entirely unexpected.”

“You thought he’d try to stop you from leaving?” Draco looks down sharply.

“No, I just figured me leaving for Yule break could be going against whatever plan he had. Obviously, he didn’t want me to like the Dursleys. If I weren’t friends with you all, I’d be staying at the castle for break,” Hari shrugs, “so it seems a safe assumption that he’d want me there over break.”

“For Godric’s sake, Hari,” Blaise rubs one of his eyes, “why does this have to be so complicated? I almost wish we’d known he’d wanted you there for break so we could figure out why.”

“There’s a few options,” Pansy says, “starting with whichever Gryffindor he wanted you to be friends with. They’re probably staying over break, or were supposed to if they’d been friends with you.”

“That,” Draco nods, “or he was hoping to get you away from us, possibly re-Sort you when you’re unprotected. No one else in Slytherin stayed for the break, so it would’ve been the perfect opportunity to get you alone.”

“Or there’s something he was planning from before we ever even got to Hogwarts,” Blaise adds, “and you being in Slytherin doesn’t really affect it.”

“Whatever it is, I’m glad this is the only time he’s tried something since the first day of term,” Hari grumbles, sinking further into Draco, eyes drooping. “Otherwise he’d be very irritating.”

Draco snorts, “He’s very irritating anyway.”

“Only ‘cuz you’re worried about what he could do all the time. I chose only to worry when he’s actually trying stuff.”

“That’s been twice this year.”

“Exactly. It was a relatively stress-free year.” Hari’s smile is small and content.

“Go to sleep, dork,” Draco says, patting Hari on his head.

“Not a dork.”

“Just sleep. I’ll wake you up when we need to get off.”

Hari falls asleep without another thought and the others kick up a quiet conversation around him, discussing things they want as Christmas gifts and making plans to meet over the break. Blaise rambles about the shoes he’s picked out and Pansy about the new type of throwing knives she wants to try. Daphne tells them all about the new hair products she’s asked for and Draco chatters about the potions kit Uncle Sev had showed him.

“What would Hari want?” Daphne suddenly asks.

“Honestly,” Draco sighs, “I’m sure he’d be happy getting anything, what with the state his ‘relatives’ left him in.”

“More like, he considers even going to your house as his gift,” Pansy snorts, “and doesn’t expect to have anything to unwrap.”

“Pansy!” the others cry and Draco continues, “I was trying to think positive!”

“With this boy?” She rolls her eyes at them, “good luck with that. We’ll just have to make it a spectacular Christmas.”

“You know what,” Draco decides, “maybe I’ll get him a pet.”

“Merlin, Draco,” Blaise whips his head around, “that’s—okay, I was going to say that’s crazy, but that’s actually a good idea. You get him a pet and the rest of us can get him stuff for it. He’d love that.” They spend the last half hour of the ride debating different types of pets to get for him. They eventually decide to just wander around a pet store for a little while sometime and get whatever seems the most like Hari.

Five minutes away from the station, Draco gently shakes Hari awake and helps him gather his things. The train hisses to a stop not a moment after they’ve fully collected themselves and the group steps off.

“My parents are over there,” Blaise gestures towards the apparition point.

“Dummy,” Daphne smacks his bicep, “all our parents are going to be over there. Not like our families would ever floo.” Blaise rolls his eyes at her and they make their way over to their parents.

“There you are, Draco,” Narcissa Malfoy wraps her son up into a hug.

“Hello, Mother.” Draco’s words are muffled from inside the hug. Mrs. Malfoy passes him off for a brief hug from Mr. Malfoy.

“Hari, dear,” Mrs. Malfoy bundles Hari into a hug as well, “so good to see you. Are you ready for Christmas?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hari smiles up at her.

“Oh, no, no, you call me Narcissa,” she tugs lightly at a loose lock of his hair, “your hair looks very nice pulled up like this. Daphne got her hands on it, I suppose?”

“Thank you, and yes, she did.”

“Are you ready to go, Narcissa?” Mr. Malfoy asks. “Hello, Hari.”

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Lucius, please,” Mr. Malfoy offers a small smile, then holds his arm out to Draco.

“Come along, Hari,” Narcissa says, holding her own arm out to Hari. “Ever Apparated before?” Hari shakes his head. “That’s alright. It might make you feel a bit nauseous, but as long as you don’t let go, it’ll be alright.” Hari clutches tight to her arm and his trunk, then feels something tugging behind his navel.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” Narcissa is smiling at him, but Hari has to take a moment to settle his stomach.

“Not too bad, no.”

Draco grabs Hari’s free hand, “Come on, let’s go in!” Lucius opens the iron-wrought gate and Draco pulls Hari through. “Don’t look at the peacocks for too long,” Draco points out some white birds strutting around, “they tend to take it as a challenge. And they’re not easy to get away from.”

“They’re not that bad, Draco,” Lucius chides.

“To _you_, maybe, but they hate me,” his son glares over his shoulder. Draco pushes open the massive front door and leads Hari inside. “Mother, what room did you have prepared for Hari?”

“The West Room,” Narcissa says, levitating Hari’s trunk in behind her. “Plinky!” There’s a loud crack and a small creature appears in front of her. “Please take Hari’s trunk up to the West Room and Draco’s to his room.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the creature squeaks and snaps its fingers, disappearing with both trunks. Hari gives Draco a quizzical look.

“Follow me.” Draco darts off and Hari follows close on his heels.

“This,” Draco throws open a door, “is your room. It’s a bit small, but it’s still better than the dorms.”

“Small?” Hari looks at Draco like he’s crazy and suddenly, Draco doesn’t want to ask, but can’t stop himself.

“How big was your room?”

“Ah, well, this last summer, I got Dudley’s second bedroom, which is about half the size of this? A fairly typical size, I believe.”

“And before that?” Draco drawls, tilting his head and watching Hari closely. Hari looks away, ratcheting up Draco’s concern. “Hey,” he pokes Hari’s cheek until Hari looks at him, “it’s their shame, not yours. Tell me.”

“I had the cupboard under the stairs,” Hari reveals after a moment’s hesitation.

“How does it always get worse?” Draco whispers and pulls Hari in for a hug.

“Um…”

“It cannot be worse than that,” Draco pleads, heart aching.

“It had a lock on the outside.”

“Merlin.” Draco buries his face into Hari’s hair, clutching him tight as he tries to reign his emotions back in. Hari feels a few drops fall on his head and realizes with horror that Draco is _crying._

“Dray? Are you okay?”

“Just overwhelmed,” Draco mutters, “don’t tell the others.”

“Of course not,” Hari promises and cuddles closer into his friend, burying his face into the crook of Draco’s neck. They stay like that until Draco manages to calm himself down.

“So,” Draco swipes a hand surreptitiously under his eyes, “this is your sitting area, though I assume we’ll use mine more often. And your bed is a queen and you can put whatever books you want to borrow on the bookshelves—I’ll show you the library later. Your bathroom is over here, it’s got my favorite tub in the whole Manor. And the closet is inside the bathroom, so Dipsy will unpack your clothes into there. And this door here,” Draco grins brilliantly, “connects to my room. Really, though, yours has the better tub. I use it all the time.”

“Can I see your room?” Draco gives Hari an odd look.

“Of course, though I was going to give you some time to settle in before dragging you on a tour of the Manor… Whatever, we’ll do it now before going to lunch. Oh! And grab your drink. It’s a little past the time you usually have it.”

“When do you eat lunch?” Hari asks incredulously. It’s already a bit past eleven.

“Usually between twelve-thirty and one. Dipsy will let us know.” Draco opens the door to his room and steps through, revealing a tastefully decorated sea of green and silver. Though, it is much less obtrusive than the Slytherin dorms. The green is more muted and the silver not quite so brilliant, not to mention that there’s more than one shade of green.

“My bed’s a king,” Draco informs him, “I convinced Father to get it for me a few years ago when we started having sleepovers.” Hari nods along to this, realizing that ‘queen’ and ‘king’ must be referring to the size of the beds, since Draco’s is larger than Hari’s.

“Explains why you thought the beds at school were small,” Hari pokes Draco in the ribs, earning a slight squeak.

“Well, they are!”

“Yeah, well, most people don’t have a king for one person.”

“Whatever. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the Manor.” With that, Hari is lead on a whirlwind tour that ends in the library, where he is allowed (read: forced) to select a few books for his room.

“Young Master Draco,” comes a little voice, “the luncheon is being served. The Master and Mistress Malfoy is being waiting in the dining room.”

“Thank you, Dipsy. And Dipsy,” Draco pulls Hari forward, “this is Hari, my friend. He’ll be with us all break, so it’d be appreciated if you’d help him, too.”

“Of course, Young Master Draco. It is being good to meet you, Young Master Hari.” Dipsy disappears after that and Draco guides Hari to the dining room.

“There you are, Draco, Hari,” Narcissa smiles, “come sit.” Draco takes the seat next to his father at the long table and Hari nervously sits next to him.

“Relax, dear, it’s just lunch.”

“Yes, yes, help yourself.” Hari goes to do as Lucius says, but Draco cuts Hari off, loading his plate for him.

“Thank you, Draco,” Hari mutters dryly.

“Your welcome, Hari.” Draco pretends not to hear Hari’s sarcasm and earns himself a glare. “You’ll like this, but you never would have gotten it for yourself,” Draco points to a type of meat, “it’s snidget. Try it.”

The meal is passed rather quietly, only interrupted by the occasional questions about school from Narcissa and Lucius. Hari finishes eating quickly, still slightly full from the shake he’d just had.

“Well, Hari, Draco,” Lucius stands, “could I speak with you both in my study?”

“You really don’t think you’re excluding me from this conversation, do you, Lucius?” Narcissa shoots him a nasty look and pushes to her feet. “Come along, boys, let’s go talk.”

The study is larger than Hari expected, each wall covered with bookshelves and the massive mahogany desk only takes up a fraction of the space. The rest of the space is filled with plush arm chairs next to small tables.

“Take a seat.” Lucius gestures to one of the armchairs, so Hari sits and Draco settles into the spot next to him.

“We need to discuss what Draco wrote me about at the beginning of term,” he begins, “and, Draco, I’d like Hari to do most of the talking, alright? I need his words, not your paraphrasing.” He levels a dry look at Draco, who acquiesces easily. “Good. Hari, what exactly happened on your trip with Hagrid?”

So, Hari talks, telling them how Hagrid took him to Gringotts, took a very specific amount of galleons out, and kept his key. He tells them about how he got Hedwig as a so-called gift that Hagrid had used Hari’s own money to buy. And how Hagrid had left him on his own to do most of the shopping, going off to ‘run an errand’ or drink at the Leakey.

“We’ll go to Gringotts tomorrow,” Lucius assures him, “and see to looking at your parent’s will and any illicit transactions from your vaults.”

“I’d like that, if it’s not too much trouble.” Hari sees something flash in Lucius’ and Narcissa’s eyes, but it’s gone in an instant, so he ignores it.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Narcissa promises.

“What about what happened with your Sorting?” And Hari tells the tale of Dumbledore stopping him in the hall on the way down to the dorms, offering him another chance to be placed in Gryffindor.

“And Father? Hari forgot to mention Ron Weasley.”

“Oh, right, you mentioned him in your letter. What do you know about this boy?”

“Not much,” Hari admits, “but I think he’s probably who Dumbledore wanted me to befriend. Hagrid stuck me in a boat next to him and he tried to convince me that Slytherin was a bad House to be in, then insulted Draco while we were waiting for Professor McGonagall.”

“That certainly sounds suspicious,” Lucius agrees, “though it could just be circumstantial. He could have just wanted the great Hari Potter in his House and as his friend.” Hari agrees—none of them had thought of that. Perhaps because they were so convinced of the conspiracy.

“Now can I ask about what Severus mentioned, Luc?” Narcissa eyes her husband, daring him to say ‘no.’

“I don’t have any more questions that can be answered with what we know now, so yes. You may.”

“Dear, would you tell me about your relatives?” Hari fidgets with his fingers, twisting and pulling them.

“How about I tell her?” Draco offers and Hari sags with relief. Draco takes this as Hari’s agreement and tells his mother everything he knows. Narcissa sighs.

“Hari, would you be alright with showing me the scarring later? I am a licensed healer, if that helps.”

“Okay,” Hari nods. If she’s a healer, maybe she’ll think of something Madam Pomfrey didn’t to make him gain weight faster.

“Good. We’ll talk more about this then.”

“Mother, could I invite the others to go to Diagon with us tomorrow?”

“Of course, Draco,” Narcissa smiles at her son, “I’m sure you all have Christmas shopping to do, am I right?” Draco heaves out a long ‘yes’ and the boys are released to go do as they please for the rest of the day.


	5. A Reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter five for ya! I was hoping to post it last night, since I was most of the way through the chapter I was writing, but then realized sleep is a necessary commodity.
> 
> In this one, a will is read and treachery uncovered. Christmas shopping occurs, as well. It's not as cute or fun as some other chapters, but I also really like the goblins, so there's that. No warnings for this one, which is good! Hope you like!  
~Mav

The goblins are just as frightening as Hari remembered them being. The same one as last time, Griphook, is seated at a large desk. He looks up as they approach.

“Lord Malfoy,” he greets, “we have a private room set up. Follow me.”

“Thank you, Griphook.”

The room has a desk with three chairs on one side and a chair for a goblin on the other. Griphook hops into the chair and Lucius guides Hari into the center chair.

“What can we do for you today, Lord Malfoy?”

“It’s Mr. Hari Potter who needs your assistance, actually.” Griphook raises an eyebrow at Lucius’ words, turning to look at Hari.

“I had thought the child looked different than I remembered the young Heir Malfoy.” Griphook leans forward slightly, looking Hari over. “What can we do for you, Mr. Potter?”

Hari glances at Lucius, who only nods, so Hari says, “I’d like to have my parent’s will read.”

“We were wondering when someone would request that,” Griphook comments, seeming pleased. “I will have it brought up.”

“He would also like a history of transactions that have occurred since his parents’ deaths, from all inherited vaults,” Lucius adds.

“That can be done.” Griphook stands and speaks to a goblin outside, who hurries off. Two minutes later, the goblin returns with two files. Griphook hands one file to Lucius and opens the other. “This is the will,” he informs Hari, “it will speak in the late Lord and Lady Potters’ voices when opened. When completed, a written copy will be passed into your possession. It is recommended you store it in a secure location, although the original and a spare will be kept here at Gringotts.”

_“This is the will of James and Lily Potter,” _a male voice speaks, _“We would like to begin by stressing the fact that Sirius Black was not our Secret Keeper. Let me repeat that: Sirius Black was _not_ our Secret Keeper. Peter Pettigrew was. Should we pass while within our home under the Fidelius Charm, Peter Pettigrew should be found. I state this because we are allowing the rest of the world to believe Sirius is._

_“If we pass before Hari reaches age of majority, under no circumstances should he be sent to Petunia and Vernon Dursley.”_

A female voice cuts in, _“Do not _ever _send Hari to my sister. He would not be safe there.” _

It switches back to the man, _“Thank you, Lils. Our choice of guardians for Hari are as follows: First, his godfather, Sirius Black. Second, our close friend, Remus Lupin. If neither of them are capable, Severus Snape should be contacted. As a final option, we list Minerva McGonagall. If none of them can, there are multiple pureblood families who would be trustworthy, beginning with the Peverells and their close friends. If there is no one capable of raising Hari, he should be sent to an orphanage instead of the Dursleys. And just in case this isn’t clear enough, the Dursleys_ _are not trustworthy and should never have custody of Hari under any circumstances._

_“In terms of material possessions, we leave everything to Hari except for the following. I leave The Potter Farmhouse to Remus Lupin, along with one million galleons and fifteen percent of my stocks in Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. To Sirius Black, I leave The Potter Minor Manor, where we spent our best summers. No, Siri, no money for you, you’re already filthy rich. To Peter—unless he reveals our location as Secret Keeper—we leave the forest cabin and five hundred thousand galleons. No, Peter and Siri, we are not playing favorites. You know it’s harder for werewolves to get jobs. Stop whining.”_

_“Okay, love, that’s enough. My turn. To Severus Snape, I leave the Opal box and accompanying picture books, as well as five hundred thousand galleons. In the event that he becomes Hari’s guardian, we leave him fifteen percent of our socks in Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Lastly, to our good friend Minerva McGonagall, we leave five hundred thousand galleons, a photobook labeled ‘Minnie,’ and a notebook, also labeled ‘Minnie,’ detailing all the pranks the Marauders pulled during their time at Hogwarts—ones you caught them doing and ones that you didn’t. Minnie, you’ll find that there were far more than you thought and the ring leader is utterly shocking.”_

_“My turn again! Everything else goes to Hari. Everything. Give nothing to anyone else. We leave no one in charge of the vaults and property except Hari. Our house elf, Critter, will maintain the properties. Any transactions not authorized by Hari are fraudulent and should be immediately canceled._

_“For our burials, we have left instructions with both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, so either can be contacted to arrange our funerals._

_“Thus, concludes our will.”_

_“And look, love, you made it all the way through without saying anything rash.”_

_“That I did,”_ he laughs and she joins in, _“That I did.”_

The audio stops and Hari just stares.

“So… that massive file Mr. Malfoy is holding… its every transaction since they died?”

“It is.”

“And they’re all against my parent’s wishes since I didn’t authorize anything?”

“That’s true.”

“And you know who authorized the transactions?”

“We do,” Griphook smiles cruelly, realizing where Hari is going with this.

“I’d like to have all transactions they authorized cancelled and I would like to press charges against this person. Whatever those charges would be.” Hari tilts his head. “Is there anything I can do about their will being ignored in the case of my guardianship?”

“Knowingly sending a child to the wrong guardians would be kidnapping,” Lucius informs Hari, “And I’m certain we can throw in charges of child neglect in there, too.”

“Okay, let’s do that, then.” Hari turns back to the goblin. “Can you see to it that the items they’ve left to others are delivered to them?”

“We can take care of the money and stocks, but the other items are still within the properties and must be collected by someone else.”

“We’ll take you to find everything, Hari,” Narcissa tells him. “We have a whole three weeks.”

“Alright, thank you. But what about Sirius? He went to jail without a trial, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Lucius growls, “and I will be going to the Ministry to have him released immediately. I should warn you though, Azkaban has horrifying psychological effects, so he might not yet be healthy.”

Griphook stood, “I trust you, Mr. Malfoy, will be able to help Mr. Potter comprehend his account statements. I will be going now to correct the past transactions and contact our legal department to bring in the perpetrator. And, Mr. Potter, should you need to purchase anything, this pouch will allow you to access your vaults.” Griphook hurries off, leaving the three of them to find their way out.

“This way, Hari,” Narcissa places a light hand on Hari’s back and guides him out of Gringotts. “It’s been a bit more than an hour, so Draco should be at Fortescue’s getting ice cream.”

At Fortescue’s, Draco and the others are digging into a massive sundae together, bigger than Blaise’s head. There’s an extra spoon sitting on the table, presumably for Hari.

“There you are, Hari! That took you forever,” Blaise informs him. Hari huffs, flopping into a chair and taking the extra spoon.

“We had to have the entire will read and make some plans for correcting some… errors.”

“One particular error which Hari and I will have to discuss in more detail once I’m finished with the Ministry.”

“I’ll be joining you,” Narcissa cuts in and Draco’s eyebrows raise. He leans over to whisper in Hari’s ear.

“What happened that Mother wants to fight the Ministry?”

“Something about Sirius Black being innocent.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco cringes, “I would not want to be at the Ministry when she gets there.” They watch the Malfoy parents walk out.

“Is your mum that frightening?”

“Listen, Hari, Mother never properly gets angry with me. Because she loves me and is intensely protective of me. Sirius was her favorite cousin. She and Sirius kept in contact even after he left the family. She’ll be just as protective of him as she is of me and those Ministry people have no clue the kind of storm that’s about to hit them.”

“That tends to be how it is for all pureblood families, though,” Daphne says, “you protect your own and if someone harms them, you destroy that person.” Hari stares at Daphne, horrified. “Don’t worry about it, you’re too sweet to ever be on anyone’s bad side.”

“Alright then,” Hari agrees, choosing to let the subject drop.

“Let’s finish this, then we can do our Christmas shopping.”

“I want to go check out the throwing knives and see if Robes Emporium has gotten any new designs,” Pansy declares.

“Robes Emporium first, then we can split up,” Blaise says, “since Daphne and Draco will definitely want to look at weapons with you.” He turns to Hari, “I never got into the whole ‘fighting’ thing, but we’re all taught how to.”

“Yes, but I just like to collect weapons, not use them,” Daphne points out.

“Same here,” Draco agrees. All eyes turn to Pansy.

“What?” She raises her hands in a surrender position, “I just think it’s fun to fight like that.”

“You would,” Blaise rolls his eyes. “You’re bloodthirsty.”

“I think I’ll stay on your good side, thanks,” Hari hunches down into his seat, watching her cautiously, but playing it up dramatically.

“Yeah, yeah, Golden Boy,” she waves her hand at him, “like Daphne said, you’re too much of a sweetie to be on anyone’s bad side.”

“Except, apparently, Weasley’s.”

“He doesn’t count since he’s a dunce, anyway.”

“Aww,” Daphne pouts, “we’re out of ice cream.”

“But I barely got any!” Hari whines.

“Good,” the others snap at him, Draco adding, “you’d spoil your lunch otherwise.” Hari pouts, shooting them puppy eyes and Draco seems to cave.

“Fine,” he sighs, “we can have more ice cream after dinner.” Not exactly what Hari was going for, but acceptable.

“Oh,” Blaise digs in Draco’s bag for a moment, “drink this.”

“Really, guys?” Hari rolls his eyes and snatches the drink. After he takes a few sips, they leave the shop to go to Madam Malkin’s.

“Hello, dears,” the witch says when they enter, “what can I do for you?”

They spend nearly an hour in Madam Malkin’s while Pansy and Blaise study each new design in multiple different fabrics and colors, leaving Hari, Draco, and Daphne to either watch, bored, or torture each other by pulling down colors and attempting to force them on the others.

“Are you three quite done?” Blaise asks when he and Pansy are ready to go.

“We got bored,” Hari defends himself.

“You’re still acting like children,” Pansy snickers.

“How are we splitting up?” Draco asks.

“You, me, and Pansy to check out weapons and Blaise and Hari to look at whatever it is the lame children want to look at.”

“We’re not lame!” Blaise cries indignantly, lightly smacking Daphne on the arm.

Pansy, Draco, and Daphne run off, snickering, to whatever store it is that sells weaponry.

“Come on,” Blaise throws an arm around Hari’s shoulders, “let’s go find them some Christmas gifts.”

They wander around several stores. Hari eventually finds a color-changing scarf and a tailoring kit for Pansy, some hair creams and baubles for Daphne, a dragon-shaped brooch and a book on rare magical illnesses for Draco, and (sneakily) a new sapphire clasp for a cloak and a creature-shaped chess set for Blaise.

“But what should I get for Narcissa and Lucius?” He looks at Blaise wide-eyed.

“Well, Draco did mention that Mrs. Malfoy had lost a bracelet a few weeks ago,” Blaise says, “and I know Mr. Malfoy likes rare inks and fine journals. But, really, they probably don’t expect you to get them anything. The rest of us aren’t, except maybe Draco.”

“I know, but I’m staying in their house and they’re doing so much for me, so I feel like I should.” Hari shrugs and makes his way into a high-end jewelry shop, the same place he’d gotten Draco’s brooch and Blaise’s clasp.

“I’ll help you pick it out, then,” Blaise offers, “I know Mrs. Malfoy pretty much only wears silver. I think it’s a Malfoy thing, actually. Either way, it goes best with her skin tone.”

“Silver bracelet, got it,” Hari mumbles and veers towards the section that holds silver jewelry.

“I’d aim to get her either emeralds or green diamonds, if you’re getting something with a stone,” Blaise adds, “unless you want to get her onyx. She was in Slytherin, too, and would definitely appreciate that.” Hari nods to show that he heard Blaise and continues to stare at the bracelets. There’s a few that seem okay, but not spectacular. After ten minutes of just staring, he’s narrowed it down to three.

“This one?” He taps a slim cuff, engraved with a vine pattern with small emeralds at the tip of each little leaf.

“That,” Blaise sounds shocked, “would be perfect.”

“Good,” Hari relaxes a little, “then I’ve only got one more person to shop for.”

“Lucky you. I’ve got to come back a few more times to get everyone done,” Blaise grumbles, “stupid cousins. Let’s go next door, they’ve got really nice writing supplies.”

Hari decides on a dragon-scale based ink in an almost-black green and a pretty notebook with vines matching Narcissa’s bracelet etched into the mahogany-dyed leather.

“I hate your talent at picking gifts, Hari,” Blaise complains when they’re walking back to Zonko’s to meet up with the others, “I positively hate it.” Hari ignores him and lets him rant about how difficult it is to pick out gifts for people.

“Are you all done?” Hari asks the others when they get to Zonko’s.

“Yep,” Draco grins proudly. “Mother said she and Father would meet us for lunch at twelve-thirty. We should start walking over.”

Lunch turns out to be at a very nice restaurant that Hari can’t pronounce the name of. Narcissa and Lucius are only a few minutes behind the five of them. They arrive seeming to be in a much better mood than when they left, causing hope to bubble in Hari’s gut.

After a round of greetings, they place their orders and look to the parents as they wait for the food to arrive.

Lucius sighs, “I suppose you all want to know what happened?” Five sets of eyes blink at him in confirmation. “It took some yelling, creative word choice, and persuasion, but eventually we got in to see the Minister, who couldn’t dispute the evidence in the will. Sirius is being transported to St. Mungo’s as we speak.” Narcissa smiles brightly at these words.

“He will be ready for visitors in just a day or two,” she announces. No one misses the way Hari brightens at this, eyes shimmering.

“Hari,” Lucius leans across, eyes gentle, “remember, Azkaban is not a good place to be. The guards there are creatures who literally prevent you from ever feeling happy. It’s not uncommon for people in there to go insane.”

“Wait, but if he can’t take custody of me instead of the Dursleys…”

“No!” Draco stamps his foot under the table, “You’re not going back there. Not ever. No way. Your parents must have listed more than one person.”

“They did,” Narcissa agrees slowly, “but there are some concerns about the other three options.”

“Why? Isn’t Mr. Lupin one of their closest friends?” Their food arrives at this moment, so the table is quiet as they take their first bites.

“He was,” Narcissa seems to be choosing each word slowly, “and he is an incredibly trustworthy man. However, the Ministry would never allow him to take custody of a child.” When Hari opens his mouth to argue, she holds up a hand. “He is a good man and I would trust him to take care of Draco any day, but the Ministry has certain views that are foolish and backwards. Namely, they think because he is a werewolf, you would be in danger.”

“Why do they think that?” Draco presses his foot against Hari’s at the dismayed question.

“Prejudice, mostly. Werewolves aren’t in control of themselves on the full moon. He might not want to, but without a specific potion, he could kill you. When the wolf is in control, werewolves are uncontrollably violent.”

“Oh,” Hari picks at the food on his plate, thinking. “But with the potion?”

“Perfectly safe. But the Ministry chooses to ignore the potion and deny werewolves the right to adopt.”

“What about the other two options?” Daphne asks.

“One of the options is your Professor Snape. The Ministry would have the same problem with him as they would with Lucius and I,” Narcissa explains, “he is technically an ex-Death Eater, even though he was Imperiused. And as for Professor McGonagall, they wouldn’t really have any legs to stand on besides her age. But all the Ministry would have to do is vote against her—which they would—and she’d lose custody.”

“They can do that?”

“Technically.”

“Is there something I can do to prevent it?”

Lucius smirks, “there is. But it will make a lot of people angry.”

“What is it?”

“Choose your guardian. Before they vote, you do an interview with a newspaper. You talk about how happy you are living with them, how well taken-care-of you are, and how horrible it was in your previous home. Basically,” Lucius explains, “you make it so that if they vote against your choice, they end up hated by the public.”

“I can do that,” Hari grins. Draco glowers.

“I don’t like it,” he says, “having to make that all public.”

“No,” Lucius agrees, “it’s not ideal. But if it means he never goes back…” He trails off, letting them finish the sentence for themselves.

“Fine,” Draco huffs, “but only because the alternative is worse.”

“It only matters if Sirius turns out to be unable to take Hari.”

The conversation drifts to what the kids had done after that.

That night, Lucius helps Hari review his vault statements—for all four vaults. Not that Dumbledore thought Hari needed to know about the other three. The goblins will reverse all the transactions made since his parents’ death, so Hari chooses to ignore those for now. While he cannot technically access the other three vaults until he is either of age or becomes Lord, just knowing the money is there loosens a knot in his stomach.

The Dursleys can never stop him from attending Hogwarts.


	6. Released

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go, I cranked out another chapter of book two! I've got some solid ideas for the next one, too, so hopefully that will come out by lunchtime tomorrow. I know I've mentioned this in previous notes, but book two seems like it will be a fair amount shorter (in word count) than book one, although I'm searching for ways to even it out a bit. It will also likely be longer in chapter number, just because of how the scenes split.
> 
> As for this chapter, we get one of our favorite characters back! Warning, though, as there is discussion of abuse and the after-effects of both abuse and Azkaban. But I also threw in some cute Hari&Draco snippets, so there's that to look forward to. See you at the next chapter!  
~Mav

A few days later, Hari wakes to Draco snickering at an article the family owl had brought him.

“What’s it say?”

“It’s about Sirius being released and Rita Skeeter is livid,” Draco passes the paper to Hari, “she’s going on and on about how Sirius shouldn’t have been released because even if he didn’t betray your parents, he still killed Pettigrew. Apparently, Mother got a quote in there. Look for yourself.”

** _Sirius Black: Murderer Released_ **

_Despite new information coming to light that reveals that Sirius Black did not, in fact, betray the Potters, he should not have been released from Azkaban. He is, after all, still a raving murderer._

_Personally, I dread the day he leaves St. Mungo’s to re-enter civilized society. What are we going to do with someone who thinks it _funny _to kill an ex-best friend and twelve muggles? The Ministry cannot possibly think it safe to allow him within our ranks once more. And yet, they are letting him out._

_“I have to,” Minister Fudge claims, “he never received a trial!”_

_There was no need for a trial, certainly. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for the deaths of the Potters, but the other murders he committed demand life in Azkaban, if not the Kiss. Are we supposed to take the word of Narcissa Malfoy, an ex-Death Eater’s wife?_

_“He didn’t cast that spell, you cow!” She screeched at me when I interviewed the Minister. I still am unaware of why she was even there. She continued to yell, “They’ve checked his wand—he’s innocent of everything. It was Pettigrew who blew up the street and my cousin does not deserve to have you spew your filth about him. Merlin, why couldn’t they send a competent reporter?”_

_Mrs. Malfoy continued to mutter under her breath, presumably more slanderous words about me. With someone like that as a cousin, can we truly believe Black to be truly innocent in this entire case? Certainly not. And he certainly belongs back in Azkaban._

“You found this funny?” Hari stares at Draco from his bed, bewildered. Draco strides over from the armchair.

“You don’t know Skeeter.” Draco sits next to Hari, “she’s one of the most unreliable reporters out there. Her articles are sensational, but people know not to listen to them, since most of it is either wildly exaggerated or entirely made up. Mother never would have said any of that, at least not exactly like that. She would have coolly stated the facts, no yelling, screeching, or name-calling involved. I do believe the comment about Skeeter being incompetent, though.”

“So, no one will believe this?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Draco says, “she has her followers, but they’re not in the majority.”

“I just want his transition back to go smoothly.” Hari tries to imagine the person who supposedly was his Uncle. But the name Sirius is bringing up no memories.

“It will,” Draco promises, though he can’t really promise that. “It’ll go perfectly and this summer, you’ll go to his home at the Potter Minor Manor. You’ll like that place; the area is gorgeous. It’s at the Teesta River in West Bengal, though it’s got a high enough elevation that it doesn’t flood during monsoon season.”

“How, exactly, do you know this?” Hari had told him about everything in the will, but even Hari didn’t know any specifics.

“Pureblood education,” Draco groans, flopping sideways on the bed. “I was required to learn the basics about every family, which included the Potters. And the Blacks, too, though I know more about them since Mother is a Black.”

“And ‘the basics’ include knowing the location and logistics of the homes of every family?”

“No, no,” Draco waves his hands around, “just the manors. Most families only have one. Your family and the Peverells—who are considered ‘extinct’—are the only ones who have two. Other properties typically aren’t places you would host guests, so there’s no point in studying them.” Hari just stares at him for a minute, trying to figure out exactly how much information that means Draco knows.

“There’s twenty-eight Noble pureblood families in Britian,” Draco says when he sees Hari struggling, “That’s thirty Manors I know the location of. I also know the living members of each family and one generation back and basic information about them. That’s a lot more people, but it’s still not too difficult when you consider that there’s a lot of pureblood gatherings. They like to flash money.”

“So… You also know about the Weasleys.”

“Of course,” Draco crinkles his nose. “But they don’t come to events. Why?”

“Well, if you know a lot about the Weasleys…” Hari trails off, smirking, and lets Draco piece his meaning together. When the other boy grins wildly, Hari knows it’s gotten across.

“Oh, yes, we are definitely using this,” Draco rubs his hands together, “when we see the others after Christmas, we’ll come up with some usable information.”

“We have to wait that long?” Hari pushes some curls out of his eyes.

“Not technically, but we all had different tutors, so they might know something I don’t.”

“Strategy,” Hari mumbles, smiling to himself.

“Come on, up, we’ve chatted long enough.” Hari whines and attempts to bury himself back into the pillows. “Nope, if you’re awake enough to scheme, you’re awake enough to get up.” There’s a silence as Draco drags the blankets off Hari. “Breakfast is ready, by the way.”

Hari’s up in an instant, at that.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Draco snickers, “I didn’t even need to pull out the big guns.”

“Big guns?” Hari stuffs a bite of eggs into his mouth.

Draco snorts, “reminding you that we’re going to meet both Lupin and Black today.”

Hari startles and Draco outright laughs at him.

“Shut up.”

“Just eat your food. I’m going to pick your outfit. Silver robes or green robes?” Draco muses over colors for a minute, then mutters, “definitely not red… no, not blue either. Green shirt, silver robes, green cloak?”

“Going overboard on Slytherin colors?”

“There’s no such thing as overboard,” Draco snaps.

“But you don’t deny that you’re only picking Slytherin colors.”

“No,” Draco crosses his arms and turns back to the closet, “your whole family and all their friends were Gryffindors. You wearing green and silver will make a statement.”

“That’s important?”

“It is always important to make a statement. And besides, green and silver bring out your eyes.”

“I’ll just trust you on that.” Hari finishes his breakfast while Draco hems and haws over the clothes, eventually pulling out a matte green shirt with matte gray slacks, shiny brown shoes, and a set of shimmering silver robes.

“Put this on and leave your hair down today.”

“Why?” Hari whines, “it’s so much more convenient to just pull it up.”

“It takes one potion to leave it down and several minutes to pull it up,” Draco huffs, “just do it. The curls are pretty.”

“_Pretty_?” Hari sounds wildly offended, so Draco spins from where he’d been politely looking away and stomps over.

“Fine, okay, leave it down so the scarring on the back of your neck isn’t visible. I just figured it wouldn’t be something you want to discuss with them right away. Especially if you want Sirius to stay out of jail.”

“Right,” Hari rubs his fingers across the little white lines. “He’s better, but not stable, yet.”

“That, and Mother said he’s always been pretty impulsive. I’d be willing to bet ten years in Azkaban would make that a bit worse.” Draco watches Hari’s face fall and curses himself. “Hari,” he pokes him in the cheek, “it’s not your fault and he’ll be fine. It’s just going to take some time for him to get back to normal, right?”

“I know,” Hari fiddles with the neckline of the robes he’s still holding. “I just want him to be better quickly, so he can go back to whatever he was doing before the whole mess happened.”

“According to Mother, he was part of an organization fighting against Voldemort, so he’d actually be trying to find a new job, anyway. Probably as an auror, but maybe a hit-wizard.” Draco steps back, “put that on, then, and we can leave.”

With Hari finally ready, they scour the Manor for Narcissa and finally find her in the library. They walk off the Manor grounds to apparate to St. Mungo’s.

The hospital is bustling, packed with nurses and healers and patients as far as Hari can see.

“That’s a lot of people,” he whispers.

“Is it too much?” Draco asks immediately. “Here, stay close to me.” He tugs Hari between himself and Narcissa, glaring at anyone who stared at Hari for a moment too long.

“There you are, Remus,” Narcissa calls out a few minutes and several hallways later.

“Ah, Narcissa, hello,” Remus walks over, pale and almost shaky on his feet. “I hear I have you and your husband to thank for getting Sirius out of prison.” Hari studies him and thinks he can almost recall someone who looks like him, but without a mustache. Someone called… Well, Moomy wouldn’t make sense, so Moony, maybe?

“No thanks necessary. It was purely selfish on my part.” Her hand moves to Hari’s shoulder, drawing Remus’ eyes.

“Hari,” he leans down slightly, “is that—well, I was going to ask if that’s you, but you look so much like your _baba_, and with your _maa_’s eyes, too.” The smile he offers Hari is small and nervous. It’s almost as if he expects Hari to reject him. Hari assumes _baba_ and _maa_ refer to his dad and mum.

“You were close to my parents, right? Would there be a reason they’d call you Moony?” Draco and Narcissa frown at him like he’s lost his mind, but Remus looks awed.

“I’m amazed you can remember that.” He stares at Hari for a moment, then confirms, “Yes, we all had nicknames. Mine was Moony. Peter’s—as unfortunate as it was that we were friends with him—was Wormtail. Can you recall Sirius’?”

“Maybe if I saw him?” Hari tilts his head, causing the curls to fall across one eye. He huffs and brushes them aside. Draco snickers, so Hari glares at him.

“Well, then, let’ go in, shall we?” Remus seems much more confident now, standing up straight and smiling happily down at Hari. Hari agrees and clutches Draco’s hand in his own. They slip through the door and there’s a long moment of silence while Hari and Sirius just look at each other.

Then, Hari says, “Padfoot?” Remus grins proudly and Draco studies Sirius. Sirius crosses the room, dropping to one knee in front of Hari.

“Yeah, Hari, I’m Padfoot,” he practically whispers, “it’s great to get to see you again.” There’s a sheen of tears in his eyes. Hari carefully lets go of Draco’s hand and reaches out for a hug.

They hug for several long minutes before Sirius lets go and looks up at Narcissa, “Cissy?”

“Hello, Siri,” she smiles back at him and they, too, hug for arguably too long. “Siri, this is my son, Draco.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Draco studies the frail-looking man, “Mother’s told me quite a bit about your childhood antics.”

Sirius laughs, a little wild sounding, “I’m sure she has.”

They all sit and, for the next hour or so, chat about funny little snippets of everyone’s lives. Most specifically, the boys’ time at Hogwarts.

“Hari,” Remus lightly taps his shoulder after they’ve been shooed out by a nurse, “They’re not certain he’ll be truly stable for a while.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he has improved, there’s no doubting that, but he’s struggling. This… he did well just now, I have to admit. It hasn’t been like that consistently, though. He, rather frequently, thinks he still has to fight to escape, that they’re going to take him back to Azkaban. They’re not certain when that will wear off.”

“You mean,” Hari says sadly, “that they’re concerned he wouldn’t be a safe guardian for a child.”

“Yes, that is what I mean,” Remus agrees. “It doesn’t mean he couldn’t somehow turn it around by the time the school year is up, but it would be best not to get your hopes up.”

“Then, you are recommending I seek a different guardian.”

“I am,” Remus nods, “I never got to hear your parents’ will, so I don’t know who else is listed, but I’m certain whoever you are with currently is at least acceptable.” All three tense up at Remus’ words.

“Remus,” Narcissa cuts in, “would you have an hour or so to stop in at my home for tea?”

“Well,” he glances back at Sirius’ room.

“Certainly, you know they will not allow you back in just yet.”

“Put that way, I suppose I do have the time. Thank you.” He plucks at the slightly ratty sleeves of his robes and follows the three back to the apparition point just outside Mungo’s.

“I presume you remember where to apparate to?” Narcissa asks, offering her arms to the two boys.

“I do.”

“Wonderful.” They apparate at the same time and Narcissa guides them inside. “Boys, you two can go play for a little bit while Mr. Lupin and I have a chat.” Draco and Hari do as told—well, Draco does as told and drags Hari along behind him.

“Narcissa,” Remus asks, “what exactly seems to be the problem?” Narcissa guides him to a sitting room and calls for Plinky to bring refreshments. Once served, she sets about breaking the news to him.

“Remus, the Potters’ will was not read until this past Monday.”

“Monday?” Remus startles, blinking as he tries to process this new information. “But… that’s five days ago.”

“I know.”

“Dumbledore swore he had the will read, that Hari was with who James and Lily had picked.” His voice is blank, like he doesn’t know what emotion to color it with.

“I’m sure he did.”

“Then, where has Hari been this whole time?”

“He was sent to the Dursleys.”

“Petunia and Vernon?” Rage glints in Remus’ eyes and a vase cracks in half behind him. Narcissa fixes it with a flick of her wand. “James and Lily swore they would never let Hari go there! Vernon completely alienated James the one time they met and Petunia was utterly cruel to Lily throughout their childhood.”

“Dumbledore claims that it’s for his safety, that through Petunia, blood wards from Lily’s sacrifice protect Hari.”

“I—that can’t—well, it’s almost an acceptable reason, but..”

“Hari wasn’t exactly safe there,” Narcissa agrees with him.

Remus pales, “what do you mean?”

“I mean that Hari was abused by them. He has burn scars across his arms, scars from lashings with a belt across his back, one of his arms had to be re-broken to heal properly, he never received vaccinations, and was denied treatment whenever he was ill. He didn’t know how to spell his name correctly.” Multiple items shatter this time and it takes their combined efforts to repair everything over the next minute or so.

“They’ll never let me have custody,” Remus whispers when they’ve settled back down.

“No, they won’t,” Narcissa nods, “though undoubtedly he would be safer with you.”

“I’ve got to be honest, Narcissa,” Remus says, “I don’t think Sirius will be ready to take him in any time soon. He… He handled that one hour well, but it isn’t sustainable for him. He lapses in and out of, well, sanity. Even if he is able to leave the hospital by the end of the school year, he’ll require frequent check-ups and, essentially, a guardian of his own. He’ll have to be eased back into society.”

Narcissa sighs, “this is why temporary prisoners are rarely sent to Azkaban.”

“Exactly. Who else was named as potential guardians in the will?”

“The order was Sirius, you, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonogall, any pureblood family close to the Peverells, or an orphanage.”

“Lily always did think Snape would turn it around,” Remus smiles into his tea. “He’s the next option, then.”

“Dumbledore is going to fight us on this,” Narcissa says, “He’s the one who sent Hari to the Dursleys.”

“He couldn’t have known how much Lily hated them…” Remus tries to excuse it.

“No,” Narcissa shakes her head, “In their will, Lily and James explicitly stated that Hari was never to go to them. All Dumbledore would’ve had to do was unseal the will and he would’ve known Sirius was innocent and Hari’s guardian.”

“He would’ve known… Wait, but Dumbledore performed the charm. He already knew Sirius was innocent.”

“We have reason to believe he’s been planning this for quite a while,” Narcissa murmurs, “beginning with placing Hari there.”

“Planning?”

“We think he intends to make Hari a martyr.”

“Make Hari a martyr? For what cause? You-Know-Who is already gone!”

“And you know very well Dumbledore thinks he’ll find a way to come back. We think he intended for Hari to want to be a martyr.”

“How would you make someone _want_ to be a martyr?”

“Withhold all love from them for years, then, when they’ve found an escape from that, make it conditional. Tell them there’s something everyone loves them for and that there’s more they need to do.”

“So, he put Hari with the Dursleys, where he knew Hari wouldn’t be loved so he could get Hari to fight some war he thinks is coming?” Remus sighs when Narcissa simply nods. “How do we keep him from Hari?”

“He’s had control of Hari’s vaults, illegal control, so Gringotts is drawing up a case against him. It’ll be charges including theft, identity theft, and kidnapping, as well as ones pertaining to the abuse. Once those go through, he won’t be able to do anything.”

“And how long will that take?” Narcissa is silent at this. Yes, it’s true that this evidence isn’t exactly circumstantial, but he could argue that he didn’t know he had command of the will. Or that he believed he was doing what was right. Or that Remus was supposed to have the will read. The problem, in the end, comes down to the fact that the trial will be held by a jury of peers. Peers Dumbledore has under his thumb.

“Well, he can’t argue against the will, can he?”

“Not technically, no. And if he tries, Hari has agreed to take it to the papers.” Remus opens his mouth to argue, but Narcissa cuts him off, “We wouldn’t ask him to do it if it wasn’t necessary. He _won’t_ do it unless there is absolutely no other option.”

“Even if he does try to stop Severus from taking custody, Hari would have to be sent to a third party for the duration of the trial.”

“Lucius holds enough sway in the Wizengamot, and is trusted enough that we should be able to convince them to send Hari here, in that case.”

“But this whole process…”

“Months, if not a year or two. We’re holding off until late May to present Hari’s guardianship to the Wizengamot. Just to guarantee he’ll be safe for the summer.”

“And Dumbledore will be too wrapped up in the new school year by the time the case becomes available for appeals.” Remus grins at her. Maybe Slytherins aren’t so bad—when they’re working with you.

“I’m glad he’s had you to take care of him. How is he healing?”

“I’m glad to have him in my home, but actually, I haven’t examined him myself, yet. I plan to do so in the next day or so, but I wanted him to get used to me a little bit, first. Madam Pomfrey did. I only know what I do because of Severus.”

“Still, thank you.”

“Come, let’s go check on them and you can say goodbye.”

At the top of the stairs, Draco and Hari scramble to get back to Hari’s room.

“At least now we know some of the plan,” Draco says breathlessly, snuggling in next to Hari with a book in his hands.

“Better than nothing,” Hari agrees and settles his head on Draco’s shoulder, who proceeds to open to their favorite scene and begin reading. Not a moment too soon, either, since Remus and Narcissa walk in when he’s gotten just a few sentences out.


	7. Compliment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's lunchtime. A little later into lunch hour than I wanted, but still within the boundaries. I'm getting down to business on the next chapter and I think I'm a little past halfway through, which means I'll get to start writing book three soon-ish! 
> 
> No warnings on this one, thankfully. So we have some cutesy Christmas fun and some information on Hari's family background. Hope you like! Let me know what you think!  
~Mav  
*I've had this up and ready to post for going on two hours now and I just never realized I didn't click post. So this chapter and the next will be unusually close together. But I suppose that's not something to apologize for. But sorry for getting this up late...

“Hari, Hari, it’s Christmas, get up!” Draco cries, throwing himself onto Hari’s bed.

“I wanna sleep in,” Hari whines and buries himself deeper into the pillows.

“And I wanna open gifts. But we have to get breakfast first, so get up!” Hari lifts his head and glares through his curls.

“Don’t give me that look,” Draco chides, “Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne will be here in an hour. We have barely enough time to eat, so up.”

“If you had started with that,” Hari grumbles, “I wouldn’t have argued.”

“Go, go,” Draco shoos him to the bathroom, where his clothes for the day are already hanging on the back of the door, “change, quickly.”

Hari does, putting on the matte-black trousers, satin-black button-down, and silver robes with green trimming. _It compliments Draco’s outfit_, Hari realizes when he walks back out, taking in Draco’s satin-black trousers, matte-black button-down, and green robes with silver trim.

“I don’t know if you’re going to be allowed to pick my outfits anymore,” Hari warns.

“Hush,” Draco says, adjusting the robes over his shoulders, “it looks good on you.” Hari sighs and slides his feet into the shiny black shoes Draco hands him, glancing to see Draco’s own matte shoes.

“I know it looks good, but this matchy-matchy thing might have to stop.”

“It will not.”

“Draco.”

“No.”

“Dray.”

“No.”

“Dray, we don’t have to match every day.”

“We don’t match, we complement,” Draco sniffs, sticking his nose in the air.

“Fine, we don’t have to complement each other every day.”

“No, we don’t, but we will.” Hari, realizing that arguing is useless, just huffs and walks out, making his way to the dining room where Lucius and Narcissa are waiting.

“Matching again, Draco?” Lucius chuckles and Hari glares at his friend.

“We complement, Father, _complement_.”

Breakfast passes with Draco chattering about what he thinks he’ll get and Lucius and Narcissa carefully schooling their features to not give anything away.

“Family presents!” Draco yells once they’re done eating, sprinting to the tree in the main sitting room.

“Family presents?” Hari asks Lucius as they walk over.

“Gifts we open before the guests arrive. Ones we got for each other. Though I suppose you and Draco will wait to open your gifts from each other with the rest of the group.” Hari nods along and snickers when Draco yells for them to hurry up because, “it’s present time!”

“That’s a lot of gifts, Dray,” Hari smiles and starts to sit in his favorite armchair.

“This pile is yours, dummy! Come sit!” Hari stares with wide eyes—there had to be at least seven gifts there.

“Go on, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape walks in, “they are yours, after all.”

“Uncle Sev!” Draco cries, jumping up to hug his godfather, “Wait until you see what we got him! It’s awesome!”

“You should hurry and open these, then, so you can give him his gift as soon as the others get here.” Professor Snape smiles slightly and nudges Draco back towards his pile. Draco grabs Hari on his way back.

“Mother, Father, Uncle Sev, open yours, quickly, quickly.”

“No decorum at all, really, Draco,” Narcissa says, huffing an amused laugh. Still, the three open their gifts.

Professor Snape got potions ingredients and supplies from everyone. “And you all ask why I don’t bother to re-stock near Christmas and my birthday,” he teases.

Narcissa got a necklace from Draco and a charmed hair pin from Professor Snape and something written on a card from Lucius that made her eyes go wide before she hugged him gratefully. When she opened the bracelet from Hari, she seemed inordinately pleased and came to give him a hug, as well.

Lucius got rare books from Narcissa, a home-brewed potion that could double as ink from Professor Snape and some type of casing for his cane from Draco. He, too, seemed far too happy for Hari’s gift than strictly necessary, but seeing them pleased made Hari warm and happy inside.

“Our turn!” Draco finally cheers and tears through his first gift, from his father. When Hari simply turns to watch him, he says, “Go on, Hari. We’ve only got a few minutes. No need to take turns.”

As it turns out, Draco was correct. They both got books and supplies for potions from Professor Snape, clothes from Narcissa, and pendants charmed to offer protection from Lucius. Still, Hari opened each reverently, marveling over the beginner’s books, embroidered robes, and pendant for far longer than Draco.

Hari gives them each hugs before being lead upstairs to Draco’s room to wait for the others to arrive.

“There you are,” Blaise calls as he walks into the room, coming to sit with them on the massive bed. “Finally, we can all sit on the same bed and not be scrunched.”

“Too true, Blaise,” Daphne agrees, settling next to him with Pansy on her other side.

“Dipsy!” Draco calls and the house-elf appears between the children with a crack. “Would you bring the gifts, please?”

“Of course, Young Master Draco,” Dipsy squeaks. There’s three more loud cracks, then the children are alone with a large pile of gifts, one carefully separated from the others.

“Draco, first,” Pansy says, then turns to Hari, “he’ll whine the entire time if we don’t let him go first.”

“Would not!”

“According to last year, you definitely would. Now, shut up and open.” Draco tears through the four packages in front of him. A journal from Blaise, a new pocket-knife from Pansy, hair potions, and the book and clasp from Hari.

Pansy goes next, marveling over the crusted dagger from Draco, nail colors from Daphne, a new hat and glove set from Blaise with charms to prevent hat-hair, and the scarf and tailoring kit from Hari.

Daphne got a potion to alter hair color temporarily from Draco, new, charmed shears from Blaise, a set of hair sticks filed to terrifying points and bladed fans from Pansy, and the potions and baubles from Hari.

“Hari’s turn!” Draco exclaims, looking far too excited. “I really hope you like this. We worked together on it. Open this one first; any other would spoil the surprise.” He passes over the box that had been separated from the pile. There’s holes carefully poked in the sides and lid, which Harry gently lifts off.

_“Bright,”_ a voice hisses and Hari startles.

_“Sorry,” _he tells the snake, _“would you like me to put the lid back on?”_

_“A speaker!” _It lifts up, flicking it’s tongue at him, _“My nest-mother told me of speakers. No, I will adjust to the light, I was just startled.”_

“Hari,” Draco says slowly, “you didn’t say you could talk to snakes.”

“I’ve only done it a few times,” Hari shrugs, “I just figured that was normal. Is it not?”

“No, not normal, but not abnormal, either,” Draco assures him, “it’s a gift, really. Rare, but valuable.”

“Oh,” Hari says eloquently.

“Don’t worry about it. What’d it say?”

“That it’s bright in here.” He turns back to the snake, _“What’s your name? Mine’s Hari.”_

_“Galeru,”_ the snake replies. It rests its head on the lip of the box.

“Galeru,” Hari murmurs.

“The rainbow serpent?” Pansy asks. The group stares at her blankly. “What? Mythology is cool. The rainbow serpent is said to be a creator god, most particularly in Australia. It’s rather fitting, actually, given the number of colors he is.”

“It does,” Hari agrees and holds out a hand to Galeru. _“Would you let me hold you?”_

_“Yes,”_ Galeru hisses and slithers onto Hari’s arm.

“What were you told about him?” Hari asks.

“He’s six months old, a boomslang, though very oddly colored, and he is most definitely not technically allowed as a pet at Hogwarts,” Draco laughs. The group groans at him. “Hey,” Draco defends, “we all picked him out together! I just have to speak to Father and Galeru will be allowed.” Hari studies the ‘odd coloring,’ which he doesn’t think is all that odd until he remembers that boomslang males are supposed to be green, not green, blue, purple, and dark red.

“How, exactly, did you swing that?” Daphne snickers, fiddling with her hair sticks.

“A reptile really isn’t all that different than an amphibian, is it?” The whole group starts laughing at that—simple, but effective.

“Open the rest, Hari,” Daphne orders and pushes the last three boxes to him. Inside is an assortment of snake-care items, including a transport tank, warming stones, and frozen lizards and frogs.

“Technically,” Blaise informs him, “he would eat lizards and frogs in his natural habitat, but bird eggs and small mammals are acceptable replacements if he chooses to hunt for himself.”

“That sounds easy enough.”

“The fact you can talk to him should make caring for him somewhat easier,” Pansy smirks, “and to think we almost got you a kneazle.”

“This is _much _better than a cat,” Hari mutters, stroking Galeru’s head with a gentle finger. Galeru shifts under Hari’s hand then makes his way up to Hari’s neck and settles around it comfortably.

_“You’re quite warm,”_ he tells Hari. _“Who are these other humans?”_

_“Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne,” _Harry points to them each in turn. _“They’re my friends. Draco and Blaise live in the same room as me at school.”_

_“What is school?”_

_“A place children go to learn.”_

_“And I will be there with you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Hmm. Seems interesting.”_

“Translate,” drawls Draco, leaning back onto his pillows.

“He wanted to know who you all are and what school is. Also, am I going to have to translate every conversation I have with him?”

“Yes,” the four say in unison.

“Parseltongue can’t be taught,” Pansy says, “so the only option is for you to translate.”

Hari acquiesces, knowing he’ll never get out of it.

“If we’re lucky,” Blaise adds, looking at Draco, “Galeru will end up being Hari’s familiar before we go back. They’ll have to let him in, then.” Following this statement is a comprehensive lesson about familiars for Hari, since he’d never been around them before. He learns they’re essentially helpers who will live as long as their witch or wizard does and are almost exclusively magical creatures. A simple spell will show whether or not a creature is a familiar, though the bond takes at minimum several days to develop. Hari decides he’ll keep Galeru with him as much as possible to try to encourage it.

* * *

The next several days pass uneventfully. Hari visited several of his properties—the local ones, only—and devised plans to have them repaired, with Uncle Moony’s as first in line.

“Are you excited for the New Year’s Ball?” Draco asks from Hari’s bed as the brunet plays with the little snake.

“Ball?”

“Yeah, we host one every year.”

“What exactly does this ball entail?” Hari coaxes Galeru into striking at a chair leg—a padded one, of course—before turning back to Draco.

“Ah, food and dancing for, like, four hours. People will get here at ten and leave by two in the morning.”

“I have to dance?” Hari stares, horrified.

“Have you never… No, never mind, stupid question. I’ll teach you to dance,” Draco stands and smirks, “and we’ll have to get you dress robes, too.”

“Oh, come on,” Hari whines playfully.

“New robes, new robes,” Draco sings and skips out the door, his own billowing behind him. Hari continues to fake-complain, sulking so exaggeratedly his blue robes drag along the floor behind him, allowing Galeru to slither up onto his shoulders.

“Mother!” Draco cries, “Hari didn’t know about the ball! He needs dress robes!”

“As do you,” Narcissa smiles at her son, then turns to Hari. “This will be your first event, won’t it? If you don’t mind me taking a few liberties, I recall your father’s family preferred to wear traditional dress for events like this one, despite it being on a different day than their belief system.”

“What—what does that mean?”

“Your family followed both our wizarding holidays and the Hindu holidays. I am certain Sirius and Remus would be able to teach you about them since they knew your father for so long and celebrated alongside him. How would you feel about carrying on that tradition?”

Hari’s eyes go wide, the green glittering under the morning sun. “I’d love that!”

“Very good,” she beams at him, “we will leave in fifteen minutes, I just need to notify the tailor.”

True to her word, they are stepping through the floo fifteen minutes later into a shop lined with fabrics, but no fully-sewn outfits.

“Good day, Lady Malfoy,” an old man bustles out from the back carrying several bolts of fabric.

“Good day, Mr. Lazwell,” she replies.

“Now,” he says, setting the bolts down, “while I would typically insist on working on Heir Malofy’s robes personally, Heir Potter’s _kurta pajama_ are something none of my assistants have had the opportunity to make before and I would be uncomfortable allowing them to work on them.”

“Of course, of course,” Narcissa smiles at the man, “there’s a reason your shop is the best. We trust you.”

“Very well.” He turns to Hari. “I still have the patterns from when your father came to me for his clothing. Green is for new beginnings, if I remember correctly, with white bottoms to symbolize purity, and I think some golden embroidery would make a statement.”

“It should be silver,” Draco huffs, “he’s a Slytherin.”

“Heir Malfoy, not everything is about school Houses. In this case, I am using gold as it is considered more sacred than silver in the Hindu tradition. For them, gold embellishments are ideal, although silver can be used in a pinch.” Mr. Lazwell waves a finger at Draco and ushers them to curtained areas. Inside, a thin, tight t-shirt and pair of shorts are waiting for them to change into.

“Very good, very good,” he says when the boys walk out and guides them onto podiums to be measured. Several fabrics in different shades of green hover in front of Hari for a moment before he chooses a rich emerald. A young assistant steps forward and they set to work. Measuring tapes whirl around them and fabrics are cut with enchanted scissors to the perfect sizing. “Heir Potter, will you be needing shoes as well?”

“Ah—“

“He will,” Narcissa cuts him off from where she is discussing designs for Draco’s robes, “preferably gold with a matching green embroidery.”

“Of course, Lady Malfoy,” Mr. Lazwell agrees. “Please lift your foot, Heir Potter.” There’s a pause as the measuring tape does its job, then, “and the other.” More fabric is taken down and a solid material summoned from the back. As it cuts itself into the proper shape, the clothing itself is being sewn together by several fast-moving needles.

“That’s so fast,” Hari whispers.

“I have been doing this a long time, Heir Potter, and _kurta pajama_ are a simpler pattern than robes. It is the embroidery that will take some time,” he glances away from the shoes for a moment, “would you like to watch that part?”

“May I? And how can you do this so quickly? It took Madam Malkin days to get my robes to me.”

“You ordered several sets and she is not technically a tailor,” Mr. Lazwell explains, gesturing for Hari to sit. “She creates basic designs using simple sewing spells that most housewives know. She cannot work with multiple needles like I can because of this. However, her claim to fame is the charm work she does on the robes allowing them to change to whichever House students are sorted into. Most of her clientele are children because she also charms her clothing to be difficult to damage or stain, so just three sets are almost guaranteed to last a full year, if not longer. She also charms them to grow with the student for a maximum of two inches.”

“Wow,” Hari whispers, then looks at the clothing being hemmed in the air next to him, “these won’t do that?”

“No,” Mr. Lazwell smiles at the wonder in Hari’s eyes, “these are tailor-made clothes for one event, designed to be beautiful and comfortable and quickly prepared to exactly the buyer’s specifications. Formal wear is much different than day robes, you understand?”

“I understand. I suppose Madam Malkin’s doesn’t do embroidery, either?” Hari smiles a little cheekily and the old man laughs.

“Heir Potter,” he chuckles, “you are welcome in my shop any time.” Hari grins at him happily. “Now, those seem to be ready to try on, so, go on, into the changing area.”

Hari scurries off and changes quickly. The new outfit fits him perfectly, although the style is quite different than what he’s used to. The top hangs to the center of his knees with splits in the sides up to his hips. The collar is about an inch tall and stiff, meeting in the center in a row of buttons that goes all the way down his sternum. While the sleeves are loose, they don’t hang more than an inch off. The pants underneath are slim, but not form-fitting. The fabric is soft and comfortable and despite being stiff, the collar doesn’t chafe uncomfortably.

“Is this correct?” Hari asks as he walks back out.

“Yes, Heir Potter, that is perfect. Now, please, step into these.” The shoes look almost like white loafers, but the sides are lower, the toe tapers more, and the front is turned up somewhat dramatically. “The fit looks good. Walk a bit and make sure they feel alright.” Hari doubts it’s necessary—the man seems far too capable for them to be uncomfortable in any way.

“They feel good,” Hari steps back up onto the podium after a quick lap around the room.

“Wonderful. Let me explain the embroidery options to you, then. It is typically placed on the collar itself and here,” his fingers trace around the buttons, “and around the wrists of the sleeves. For the shoes, I thought a strip of matching embroidery down the center as well as a row or two of simple green stitching around the ankle would be acceptable.”

“That would look nice,” Hari agrees. “What would the design look like?” A few examples are projected into the air and they choose a gridded design with dots inside the grid and swirls around it. It almost looks like lace with flowers.

“Beautiful choice, Heir Potter,” Mr. Lazwell says, “you may change back into your robes and I will set to work on the embroidery.”

“Those were wonderful choices, Hari,” Narcissa tells him when he joins her and Draco on a couch to wait while the final touches are made. He smiles at her but quickly returns his gaze to the sight of dozens of needles whirling around his clothing. Thankfully, nothing has to be done for the pants and, with so many needles working so quickly, the design is completed in only fifteen minutes.

The new clothes are packaged neatly before being passed off to their proper owners.

“I placed some henna—wrapped, of course—in the box, as well,” Mr. Lazwell tells Narcissa, “the late Lord Potter always did enjoy a simple design every now and again.”

“May I have the henna, Hari?” Narcissa asks once they’re back at the manor.

Hari nods, “but what is it?”

Narcissa smiles mysteriously, “something we’ll have to go see Sirius for. So run along and put your clothing away. We’ll leave as soon as that’s done.”

The boys run off and are being guided back through the floo within just a few minutes.

“Sirius,” Narcissa knocks on his door lightly, “are you available?”

“Yes, come in,” he calls. When Narcissa opens the door, he grins brilliantly at them. “Hello, Hari.”

“Hello, Padfoot,” Hari darts over and extends his arms in a silent invitation for a hug. Sirius picks him up and sets him on his hip instead.

“What can I do for you today?” His words are teasing, but he lights up sincerely when Narcissa holds up the henna. “Oh, yes, it’s about that time, isn’t it? You chose to go the traditional route, then?”

“Sure did,” Hari says with a mischievous smile, causing Sirius to laugh.

“Your _baba_ would love that,” Sirius assures him, “and your _maa_, too. She did enjoy henna, as well. And she looked beautiful in a _saree_.”

“Are there pictures?”

“Certainly,” Sirius sets Hari on the bed and pulls the little tray table between them, “she wore a _saree_ to the wedding and they always wore traditional clothing to formal events. I usually joined them, since I lived with your father and grandfather after I ran away at sixteen.” He carefully opens the henna and lays out a napkin. “Set your hands here. Know what kind of design you want?” Hari shakes his head. “How about… hmm, how about a lightning bolt on one hand and a traditional gridded design on the other?”

“Lightning bolt?” Hari touches his forehead uncertainly.

“Not like that, like a real lightning strike. Ever seen one?” Hari shakes his head again, “They look really cool. Nothing like that. Like tree roots or branches, all wild and free.” He waves his hands around, almost hitting both Hari and Draco in the process.

“That would make a statement,” Narcissa says from her seat across the room. “Since the Minister will be at the ball, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Do I need to make a statement?” Hari asks, wanting to retreat into the walls.

“It’s always a good idea to make a statement. In this case,” Narcissa soothes, “it would allow you to take command of your scar. They’ve branded the scar as the symbol of the Boy-Who-Lived. You could take it back from them like this.”

Now _that_ Hari likes the sound of. He sets both hands on the tray.

“Which hand? You’re right handed, right? We’ll do that one, then,” Sirius doesn’t let anyone get a word in edgewise and starts to work. He free-hands a pattern that shoots from the center of Hari’s wrist all the way down to the nail of his middle finger. Hari almost expects it to start crackling from how exacting it looks. On his other hand, a geometric pattern is doodled around his thumb and onto some of his forefinger.

“Keep still and don’t bump it for a while, okay?” Sirius shifts his hands to the side. “We’ll do charms over them in a bit, but for now, we want them to start to dry. Draco? Would you like one?”

“Yes, please!” Draco holds out his right arm immediately.

“Good.” Sirius sets about creating a bracelet design that looks almost like scales surrounding a peacock feather.

“You seem to be doing better,” Narcissa comments when Sirius is done.

“Kind of, but I’m still not ready to be released.” He shrugs. “Long-term exposure to dementors messes you up. I have times where I think I’m back in Azkaban. I’ve had fits, hallucinations, and far too many bouts of accidental magic to be truly safe just yet.”

“What’s their prognosis?”

“Well, no one’s ever been released from Azkaban after serving as long as I have, so they’re not entirely certain,” he drums his fingers. “At the very least, they’re confident I’ll be able to leave the hospital by the time the school year is over, though I’ll still need to be closely monitored. I sleep at random times, pop into my animagus form unexpectedly, and have wild nightmares.”

“They neglected to tell us exactly what the symptoms were,” Narcissa murmurs. “But I can see how you haven’t been released yet, then.”

“They wouldn’t have let you near the room if I wasn’t doing alright for now. I won’t lie, I feel a bit tired and I keep expecting the lights to go out like they would in Azkaban, but I feel well enough for visitors at the moment.” He taps softly at the henna on Hari’s hands, then collects lemon wedges and sugar from the tea set and mixes the juice with the sugar. “You don’t need this, Draco, since your skin is so light, but Hari takes after his _baba_ in terms of skin tone and it’ll show up better if it’s re-moistened.” He applies the liquid then casts a series of charms. “Just some spells we used to use to prevent it from getting damaged while we played.”

“Would you teach me how to apply it sometime?”

“And me?” Draco adds, leaning forward excitedly. Sirius keeps eye contact with Hari, but agrees for both of them.

“That needs to stay on a while, okay?” He waits until both boys nod. “Hari, you should keep it on until at least the morning of the ball—that is New Year’s Eve, yes?” Narcissa nods and Sirius carries on. “But preferably take it off as close to the actual ball as possible, that way it gets a full 48 hour exposure. As for you, Draco, you should be alright taking it off sometime tomorrow. I’d aim for 24 hours, though you are slightly paler than I was, so you might be alright taking it off sooner. Narcissa will have to remove the charm, otherwise you’ll never get it off.”

“And how long will it last?” Hari asks and finds himself pulled back into Sirius’ side.

“Probably around three weeks. It’ll be nice and dark for the first two, then fade away. But it really depends on your skin. Shouldn’t be too much longer than that, though, and if you get sick of the design, come see me and I can help you spell it off.”

“Okay,” Hari agrees immediately and wraps his arms around the man. Narcissa and Sirius talk softly for a few more minutes while he and Hari cuddle until Narcissa announces they need to get back for dinner.

“Bye, pup,” Sirius sets Hari down at the door, “stay safe and pay me a visit before you go back to school if you have the time.”

“I’ll try,” Hari promises, “bye, Padfoot.”


	8. Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book two is absolutely killing me. As much as I love this series and am not having trouble cranking chapters out, it's just nowhere near the length I want it to be compared to where I am in terms of plot. Hopefully it'll be an acceptable length by the end, though. It's certainly not a bad length, it's just not great.
> 
> In this one, there's some discussion of abuse that's more direct than other chapters. Be careful with the beginning. The stuff that's in italics is what to watch out for. It should also be noted that I love politically powerful Hari. So that starts in this chapter. I may have gone mildly overboard, but I think the explanations make up for that and it ends up being an interesting plot point later in the series, so... Yeah, sorry if that messes with suspension of disbelief. Hope you like! Let me know!  
~Mav

It’s the very next morning when Narcissa comes to his room before breakfast and gently wakes him up.

“’Cissa?” Hari mumbles, peeling his face off the pillow.

“Hi, sweetie,” she smiles down at him, “sorry to wake you.”

“’S fine. ‘S something wrong?”

“No, no. I wanted to ask if I could do that exam before breakfast today. Would that be alright?”

Hari glances around somewhat uncomfortably, but nods and slowly sits up. He’s only wearing shorts and a t-shirt—the bed has wonderful warming charms on the sheets—so he only has to strip out of the shirt.

“Stand up, then,” Narcissa murmurs and takes a seat on the bed. Her hands are gentle as she guides him through a gentle turn, letting her see all the scarring.

“Oh, Hari,” she whispers. Hari looks back to realize with horror that a tear is slipping down her cheek.

“No, no, don’t cry, please. I’m alright, see? See? I’m here, I’m fine,” he pleads with her. His hands are tiny on her shoulders and, if anything, his words only make her want to cry more. She steels herself and forces the tears to stop.

“Hari,” Narcissa sets a hand on his cheek and takes a shuddering breath, “I’m going to cast a few diagnostic spells, alright? The same ones you would have at a typical physical.” Her voice is steady now, thankfully.

“Okay.” He studies her face for a few more moments, seeming to decide that she had put herself back together, then steps back to give her room to work. Her wand movements are delicate and swooping. Hari can see that they’re the same pattern as Madame Pomfrey’s, but the way she casts is so much different. _It’s almost soothing to watch_, he thinks.

It’s a few minutes later when she speaks again. “Would you tell me Madame Pomfrey’s treatment plan?”

Hari details his health regiment for her, including the potions he had taken the first day, the ones just for his organs and lungs. How Madame Pomfrey thinks he’ll be ready to start growth potions for his height, soon, too. And how she had re-set his arm before coming to the Manor for the break.

“She has done a wonderful job,” Narcissa says, shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been removed. “I’m afraid there’s nothing else to be done. As she said, the scarring is too old to be reversed and the growth potions cannot be taken until your weight is fully in the healthy range. I was concerned that, as she is a mediwitch instead of a Healer, she may have missed some things, but I suppose that was foolish. She has worked at Hogwarts for a very long time and is very good at her job.”

Hari nods, “I trust her.”

“I’m glad.” Narcissa reaches out and draws Hari into a tight hug. “There is one thing I can do that she can’t, though.”

“What is that?”

“I’m trained in Mind Healing, as well. If you keep your eyes open and steady on mine, I can reach into your mind and help soothe some of the memories. It’s not a permanent fix, but along with it, I would teach you something called ‘Occlumency’, which would allow you to prevent others from entering your mind and dull the intensity of unwanted emotions and memories.”

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Narcissa assures him. “Would you like me to do it now or would you like me to get Draco?”

“Um… now,” Hari decides, “now is fine.” Draco doesn’t need to be here for this. It’d be scary for him, right? And if Narcissa sees something upsetting, then Draco would be upset, too.

“Okay, go ahead and get dressed and comfy on the bed.”

A minute later and Narcissa’s soft, grey eyes are meeting Hari’s unblinking ones, allowing her mind to slip in, smooth and gentle.

_The belt came down again and again—_

_“Freak!”_

_Hari clambered at the branches of a tree frantically…_

_“Boy—“_

_Hari ducked to dodge a frying pan swinging at his head._

_“In the cupboard with you!”_

_It smelt like burnt bacon under the pain of hot oil on his arm._

_“You should be grateful! Look at all we do for you!”_

_A break in the pain—is it over?—then the belt struck again, with the buckle this time._

_Narcissa presses on the memories, smoothing a thin shield over them to dull them, then retreats._

“Come here,” she whispers and clutches him tight. The hug is warm and comfy and… motherly? He can’t be certain on the last one, but that’s what it feels like and Hari certainly isn’t upset about that.

“Now,” she says several minutes later, “what I did is place an emotion barrier around the memories. They’re still there, but they shouldn’t be as prominent. I’ll start working with you on Occlumency over the summer, but we’ll do this again when you come back for Ostara break.”

“What’s Ostara?”

Narcissa huffs a little laugh, “I always forget this is your first time celebrating our holidays. You’ve been keeping up with Yuletide so well. Ostara is our holiday for the March equinox. It shares a similar story to that of Easter in the muggle pagan traditions, though our stories are slightly different, as I mentioned about Yule.”

“I’m just glad we still got to celebrate Christmas.” Narcissa bursts out laughing at this—though she still manages to seem refined.

“Yes, well, given that most of the days, we simply have to light certain candles or eat certain dinners, it’s easy to fit a Christmas celebration in.”

“And reflect, right?”

“Very true, good job,” she ruffles his hair and rises to leave the room. “Why don’t you get ready for the day and I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast.”

Hari agrees and she leaves, only for Draco to burst in seconds later.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He chatters on with dozens of questions until Hari manages to get him to stop.

“I’m fine, Dray, remember she said she wanted to examine me herself? And she did some Mind Healing thing for me, too.”

“Oh, okay. Go wash up! I’ll pick you out an outfit.”

“Okay, Dray.” Hari sighs and drags himself to the bathroom dramatically. When he comes back out, a set of nice robes is laid out—nicer than he’d anticipated for a day around the house.

“Father said we’re going to Gringotts today and that we should wear something nice.”

“Oh, alright, then.” He dresses quickly. The trousers are a smoky charcoal color and the button-down a pale grey, with a satin charcoal waistcoat included. His robes are a deep, jewel-tone blue and the shoes are a pair of nice, shiny black boots.

“Not matching today?” Hari teases.

“Father insisted you wear the Potter House color. It’s cobalt blue since your house gem is cobalt.”

“We have a house gem?” Hari groans. How is he ever going to learn all this?

“You have a gem, we have a mineral—silver. The Blacks have obsidian and the Peverells had black pearls. Hence, black with Potter blue on top. Since a female Peverell married into the Potter line, the Potter House has primacy over the Peverell line… That doesn’t really matter, beyond the fact that it means you’ll remain Lord Potter and get to wear that blue over anything else.”

“What about you?”

“You’re inheriting the Black title, so all I get is Malfoy. I’ll be wearing a lot of silver.”

“At least it looks nice on you.” Draco rolls his eyes at Hari and drags him from the room.

“Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Wait, Galeru!” Hari sprints back, coils the little snake around his neck, then darts back to Draco and Lucius.

“Are you ready?” Lucius asks, but doesn’t wait, simply setting a hand on their shoulders and apparating them to Gringotts.

_“I do not like that,”_ Galeru whines.

_“Me, neither, but it’s a really fast way to travel.”_

“Hari, come along,” Lucius calls, leading the way into the bank proper. “Hello, Griphook. We’ll be taking up some Heir rings, today.”  
“As you please, Lord Malfoy,” Griphook agrees and takes them to a private room. “For both Mr. Malfoy and Heir Potter?”

“Please,” Lucius nods. They wait several minutes before Griphook returns with a box and a small vial of potion.

“I presume Heir Potter doesn’t know everything he is set to inherit?”

“I don’t.”

“This potion will tell us.” He pours some of it over a parchment then hands Hari a knife. “Three drops of blood on the paper, please.” Hari carefully pricks his finger and lets three drops fall.

“Good,” Griphook nods shortly, “while that sets, we will see to Heir Malfoy’s ring.” He gestures for Draco and Lucius to stand. “I believe you remember what to do, Lord Malfoy?”

Lucius opens the box and removes a shining silver ring with glittering white stones.

“Hold out your left hand, Draco.” He slides the ring onto Draco’s forefinger and says, “I name you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, as my Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy. So mote it be.” The ring re-sizes to fit Draco’s much smaller finger and he looks slightly dazed. “Sit, you’ll be dizzy for a minute from the influx of family magic.”

“Well done, Heir Malfoy,” Griphook bows once, then turns to the paper on the desk. “Well, Heir Potter, you’ll be receiving more than anticipated, today.”

“What do you mean?” Hari asks and everyone in the room leans forward.

“It seems you are heir to some lines believed to be dead.” Griphook passes the parchment to Hari. “The Houses are listed in order of primacy.” Hari skims past the basic personal information and skips straight to the listing of inheritances.

_Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter (paternal)_

_Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell (paternal)_

_Most Ancient and Noble House of Black (godfather)_

_Founding House of Gryffindor (paternal)_

_Founding House of Slytherin (Conquest)_

_Ancient and Noble House of Gaunt (Conquest)_

“What… what does it mean by ‘conquest?’”

“It means, Heir Potter, that you defeated the last of the line of that house in such a way that their family magic no longer accepts them as Heir.”

“How many are there, Hari?” Both Draco and Lucius are watching him with interest, though Draco is the one who spoke.

“Six…” Hari trails off, studying the list once more. “Potter has primacy over the rest. I got three from my _baba_, one from Padfoot, and two through conquest. But how do I have Sirius’ if he’s not dead?”

“He waived his rights to the title, passing it on to you, since he doesn’t think he is of sound mind to hold it,” Griphook recites, waving a hand through the air. “A wise decision, given that he wouldn’t be able to hold the title in his health.” Hari nods; it makes sense, at least. “He also denied the inheritance of Potter Minor Manor, but asks that you allow him to remain keyed into the wards.” Hari nods once more, giving his permission.

“May I ask which ones you have?” Lucius asks.

“In order, Potter, Peverell, Black, Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Gaunt.”

“You’re a Hogwarts Heir,” Lucius murmurs, then grins. “You could push Dumbledore out of Hogwarts with that.” Griphook snickers at the idea, earning an approving look from Lucius. “That’s not even thinking about how many votes you get on the Wizengamot. It’s likely enough that you could force an inquiry into his actions as Chief Warlock with only one or two allies.”

“How many votes do I get? Six?”

“Master Griphook, if you would fetch the rings, I’ll be giving a miniature politics lesson, here,” Lucius smirks teasingly. Griphook smiles and bows, hurrying out of the room. “There’s a different number of votes per seat based on the House’s status. Departments in the Ministry and public elected officials each have one vote. There’s about thirty to forty of those seats at any given time, since departments in the Ministry can change. Currently, there are thirty-three. A Noble House gets two votes. An Ancient and Noble House has three. Most Ancient and Noble Houses have five votes. A Founding House gets seven. Only the House of Merlin and House of Pendragon have more, with ten votes, but those seats are considered dead. Can you tell me how many votes that gives you?”

“Five, ten, fifteen for Most Ancient and Noble. Fourteen for Founding and three for an Ancient and Noble. So thirty-two votes.” There’s a heavy silence in the room. “That’s one less than the Ministry.”

“That is.” Lucius looks just as shocked as the two boys.

“Ah,” Griphook says when he steps back into the room a moment later, “I see you have calculated the votes.”

“It’s a lot,” Hari informs him.

“It is.”

“If you form even one alliance, you can single-handedly out-vote the Ministry,” Lucius tells him. “I believe whomever you end up living with will need to find you a tutor for politics.” He pauses, “actually, it may be beneficial for me to come give you lessons during the year.”

“As fascinating as this conversation is,” Griphook cuts in, looking at a parchment that has appeared on his desk, “it would be best if Heir Potter accepts his rings now.”

“The rings will make me Heir, right?”

“No, they’ll make you Lord,” Griphook corrects, “but as Dumbledore has entered the Gringotts wards, you should put them on now. Were he to arrive here before you do, he could legally stop you.” Hari’s eyes go wide and he scrambles to his feet in front of the desk.

“What do I have to do?”

“Simply put them on,” Griphook gestures, scribbling something down on a new parchment. “I’m informing the goblins upstairs to stall him as much as possible. Quickly now.” Hari opens each box in order. “Ah,” Griphook interrupts, “I would recommend keeping your paternal rings on your left forefinger and the others on your right. Do it quickly as possible and try to sit before the family magic hits.”

Hari nods and slides the Potter ring on first, followed by the Peverell and Gryffindor rings. He moves as quick as he can, slipping first Black, then Slytherin, and lastly Gaunt onto his right forefinger. He barely makes it back to his seat before a wall of magic slams into him. There’s warmth and welcoming and protection from the Potter line, a feeling of ancient wisdom and strength from the Peverells, and a surge of bravery from the Gryffindor magic. The Black line offers raw power, a sense of cunning comes from the Slytherin line, and an almost tricky feeling from the Gaunts.

“Lord and Heir Malfoy, if we wish to keep this from Dumbledore, rise now and pretend to have just finished the transfer.” Griphook waves a hand towards Hari. “I’m applying a glamour to your hands so he will not see the rings. You will have to learn to do this yourself, later.” Finally, Griphook removes the ring boxes from the desk and sets them in a drawer Dumbledore cannot access, along with the parchments detailing Hari’s inheritances and Dumbledore’s arrival.

“Stop at once!” Dumbledore bellows, shoving the door open.

“I’m sorry?” Lucius glares at him. “Draco, take a seat, I’m sure you’re dizzy.”

“Mr. Potter is far too young to be receiving his ring.”

“_Heir_ Potter is quite old enough to be receiving it. I know plenty of Lords who did at his age. However, we are here today for my Heir to receive his ring. As Heir Potter is his friend who has been staying with us, Draco requested he come along.” Lucius stares Dumbledore straight in the eye.

“So long as it is understood that I, as his magical guardian, do not wish Mr. Potter to receive his ring yet,” Dumbledore sniffs. “I apologize for interrupting.”

“It is Heir Potter, Master Dumbledore,” Griphook corrects (incorrectly), “but we hear you loud and clear.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore turns to Hari, “do enjoy the rest of your break, my boy.” And he swirls around, sweeping from the room.

“That was interesting. He kept saying ‘ring’ like I only get one,” Hari mumbles. Draco snickers. “Would you remove the glamours now? I didn’t get to look at them earlier.” Griphook obliges and turns to Lucius, discussing something about the Malfoy vaults. Draco and Hari study the two—two!—rings on his hands.

On the left, the three have merged to create a braided gold ring with the stones on a diagonal. The Potter cobalt is slightly larger and in the center while the Peverell black pearl is smaller and closer to his third knuckle on the left and the Gryffindor ruby is smaller and further from the knuckle on the right. The other three rings have merged in an entirely different way. The band is black obsidian wrapped loosely with two slim, silver strands and a simple row of alternating emerald and jade gemstones running down the center.

“They’re so pretty,” Draco whispers.

“I was worried they’d look gaudy,” Hari agrees. “But these feel very… me.”

“As they should,” Lucius cuts in. “Lord rings will adapt to whomever is wearing them, especially ones that must merge like yours have.”

“Will that be all for today, Lord and Heir Malfoy, Lordling Potter?” Both Malfoys offer an affirmative, but Hari tilts his head.

“If I have evidence of abuse, as you are already taking care of the charges I wish to file against Dumbledore, would it be beneficial to file documents from my healer with you?”

“It would,” Griphook says, shocked at Hari’s forethought.

“Lucius, could I collect those from Madame Pomfrey and give them to you when you come for one of my lessons?” Lucius agrees without hesitation.

“Okay, then,” Hari turns to Griphook, “I’m giving express permission for Lord Lucius Malfoy to bring you documents pertaining to an ongoing investigation about me on my behalf.”

“The documents will be accepted, Lordling Potter.”

“You’re quite intelligent, aren’t you, Lordling Potter?” Lucius smiles down at him and Hari shrugs uncomfortably. Then, he freezes.

“Master Griphook, how do you greet each other in goblin culture?”

“Upon arrival,” Griphook says, pleased, “one says, ‘May your gold have grown.’ The response is, ‘and your obstacles fallen.’ When leaving, we say, ‘may your gold ever grow.’ The other will reply, ‘may your enemies cower at your feet.’”

Hari bows with a little smile, saying, “may your gold ever grow, Master Griphook.”

Griphook bows far more deeply than before, replying, “and may your enemies cower at your feet, Lordling Potter.”

When they get back to the Manor, Lucius sits down with the boys for lunch. “Hari, why did you ask Master Griphook that?”

“I’d never heard it before. It wasn’t in any books and you never mentioned it.” Hari shrugs and slouches in his chair.

“It’s nothing wrong,” Lucius assures him, “it’s just that I’d never even thought to do that.”

“What was it again?” Draco asks. Hari recites the lines. Draco giggles. “Let’s always greet each other like that.”

“We’ll have to tell the others, too.”

“It’s a good thing you have a good memory,” Draco’s giggles change to sniggers. “You have a ton of titles now.”

“What?”

Lucius chuckles, “it is quite a mouthful. To introduce yourself properly, you would say, ‘Lord Hari James Potter, Lord of House Potter, Baron of House Peverell and of House Black, Earl of Gryffindor, Duke of Slytherin, Heir to Hogwarts, and Count of House Gaunt.’ You state them in order of their primacy. For people who inherit more than one House, their primary house receives the title ‘Lord.’ The second and third houses are ‘Baron.’ Typically, it stops there. Sometimes, there is a fourth, and it receives the title ‘Count.’ Any Houses beyond that would continue to be titled ‘Count.’ Gryffindor is always ‘Earl’ and Slytherin is always ‘Duke’ and I’ve never heard what Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are, though I’m sure I could guess. Ravenclaw was from France initially, so ‘Marquis’ is likely. I would expect Hufflepuff to be ‘Viscount’. As far as I know, those Houses have been dead for quite a while, though, so I doubt we’ll ever hear them. You also need to remember to say ‘Heir to Hogwarts’ since you’ve claimed two of the Founder’s titles.”

Hari stares at Lucius for a long moment, then asks, “could you write that down for me?” Draco breaks down laughing and Lucius allows himself a moment of amusement as well.

“What are we laughing at, dears?” Narcissa sweeps into the room, pressing a kiss to Draco and Lucius’ foreheads before sitting across from Hari.

“My crazy long title.”

“Oh, yes, you went to Gringotts today. Do eat up, you missed breakfast.” She nudges his plate towards him before filling her own. “How long is this title?”

“Try and remember,” Lucius orders and Hari groans inwardly.

“Lord Hari James Potter, Lord of House Potter, Baron of House Peverell and of House Black, Earl…” he glances at Lucius, who nods. “Earl of Gryffindor and Duke? I think Duke of Slytherin. Heir to Hogwarts and Count of House Gaunt.”

Narcissa sets her utensils down gently and folds her hands in her lap. “We’ll write that down for you and review it plenty of times before you go back to school. And Lucius, you’ll be giving him private lessons in politics. Three Most Ancient and Noble Houses alone gives him fifteen votes.”

“Thirty-two,” Draco pipes up.

“Thirty-two votes?” Her eyes widen imperceptibly. She shoots Lucius a look.

“Don’t worry, love,” he assures her, “I’ll be offering him an alliance.”

“What do I do about voting for now? I can’t leave the school.”

“No, you can’t leave unless you have a guardian to take you. But technically you cannot use your seats until you are thirteen, anyway,” Lucius says, “so for now, your seats will be considered as ‘abstaining’ from voting. Once you turn thirteen, you can choose to come to what votes you care about and remain out of the ones you don’t. Or, in your case, the ones you can attend and the ones you miss due to school.”

“So…” Hari tilts his head at Lucius, “I’d be able to bring charges against Dumbledore on my own once I turn thirteen.”

“You would, but the goblins are already doing that.”

“Except that he’s in charge of the Wizengamot.” Lucius raises an eyebrow at that. “It’s the same issue as with my guardianship, isn’t it? He’ll prevent any charges from being raised against him by manipulating everyone into voting against hearing it.”

“What do you propose to do about it?”

“For now? We find some way to prevent him from finding out that I’m not going back to the Dursley’s this summer and next July. During this time, I create alliances with people who want to see him removed. Once I turn thirteen, we bring the charges to the Wizengamot with goblin backing. We out-vote him into hearing the case. We vote for use of veritaserum. Without the ability to lie, he’ll implicate himself. Even if he has manipulated enough people into not voting against him in the case, our alliance would out-vote them. He would then need to be sentenced and that would be it. Game over.”

“That’s well thought out.”

“You said it yourself, though. I can outvote the Ministry with a single alliance. With several, would it not be possible to claim the majority?”

“Lordling Potter,” Lucius smirks at him, “I’m honored to align myself with you.”

“And I, you, Lord Malfoy.”

“We will begin coming up with ways to keep you out of their house right away, beginning with sending someone to investigate the wards around the house.” Lucius glances at Narcissa and they both see the flaw in these plans.

“Let’s go play,” Draco jumps up, seeing his parent’s look. He drags Hari off, leaving Narcissa and Lucius in the dining room.

“And what happens when Dumbledore has thought to set wards to check if he arrives or not?”

“I’m more concerned that he’ll have wards that monitor if he’s there in general.”

“And if he does?”

“Then we have to come up with a way to ensure his safety.”

“Like, say, threatening the muggles?” Narcissa gives him a hopeful look.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She agrees, but doesn’t bet on it. Dumbledore, after all, is known for his ability to get his way.

* * *

“Okay, so when Lord Parkinson introduces himself to you,” Draco coaches, “He’ll introduce himself as simply ‘Lord Thaddeus Perseus Parkinson, Lord of House Parkinson’. How do you reply?” They’ve gone over this a dozen times now, changing the name of the Lord or Lady in question every time. And every time, Hari has to recite the long, stupid title that he has. It’s worse since they’ve already discussed how they don’t expect any one else will have more than one to two houses. And it definitely doesn’t help that they’re dancing at the same time. Though, he’s gotten rather decent at it by now.

“Lord Hari James Potter, Lord of House Potter, Baron of House Peverell and of House Black, Earl of Gryffindor, Duke of Slytherin, Heir to Hogwarts, and Count of House Gaunt. Pleased to meet you.” He leads Draco through a twirl on the last words and earns a smile. It’s not easy to twirl the other boy when he’s so much shorter than Draco.

“I think you’ve got it down,” Narcissa sweeps into the room. “But, so we’re clear, we want to ensure Dumbledore doesn’t find out, so how do you introduce yourself tonight?”

“Heir Potter, Heir to Houses Potter, Peverell, and Black.”

“Good. And why are you only listing these three Houses tonight?”

“These are the Houses people will expect me to know. Sirius will have told me about being his Heir and it is likely I would ask about my _baba_ possibly having a title, which either you or Sirius would have been able to tell me about. Despite Peverell being assumed extinct, it simply means my father and previous Lords chose not to take the title. Sirius would likely still know about it, being so close to my _baba_.”

“And when will it be safe for you to announce your titles?”

“Only when I approach the Wizengamot to claim my seats and take down Dumbledore.”

“Good,” she ruffles Hari’s hair gently, “go shower, both of you, and get dressed. Hari, I will style your hair for you, alright?” She waves her wand for a moment, “that should come off in the shower now. If it doesn’t, come find me.”

“Alright, Narcissa.”

An hour later, Hari’s fully dressed in his _kurta pajama_, hair neatly pulled back into a bun with thin braids scattered throughout, and studying the beautiful henna designs on the back of his hands.

“The Parkinsons, Zabinis, and Longbottoms have arrived,” a house-elf squeaks. It’s the first guests of the evening and now that they’re here, the rest will show up quickly.

“Hello, Lord, Lady, and Heir Malfoy.” Lord Parkinson is the first through the door. He turns to Hari, bowing slightly. “I am Lord Thaddeus Perseus Parkinson, Lord of House Parkinson. You are?”

“Heir Potter, Heir to Houses Potter, Peverell, and Black. Pleased to meet you.” Hari bows his head politely and the arriving Lords and Ladies smile slightly.

“You, as well, Heir Potter.”

“Hi, Hari,” Pansy whispers as they pass into the room.

“Hello, Heir Potter,” and Lord Zabini introduces himself.

“Heir Potter,” Lady Longbottom approaches, Neville on her heels. “I am Lady Augusta Longbottom, Lady of House Longbottom. Your father and my son, Frank, were quite good friends.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lady Longbottom,” Hari offers, uncomfortable under her stare. It’s as all-seeing as Professor McGonagall’s, but sharper and harsher.

“Hello, Heir Potter, Heir Malfoy,” Neville manages to get out without stuttering, but his voice is quiet.

“Hello, Heir Longbottom,” Hari and Draco reply in unison. Neville scurries off after his grandmother and Hari and Draco are left to continue greeting guests. It takes a half hour for everyone to arrive. The Greengrasses come in last, introducing Daphne as simply their ‘heir apparent,’ while every other family has introduced their eldest as their heir.

“Why…” Hari whispers to Draco who shakes his head.

“They’re the only family who’s never had a Lady as Head of House. Purely by coincidence, actually, since they’ve never had a daughter as first-born, but they’re hesitant about change. According to Father, they’ll make her Heir if they haven’t had a son by her thirteenth birthday. They don’t have long.”

“That means that everyone in our year are Heirs except Crabbe and Goyle, and Millicent and Tracey.”

“Tracey doesn’t have a house to be Heir to and Millicent has an older brother. Crabbe and Goyle both have multiple older siblings.”

“Poor Daphne,” Hari mutters.

“Nah. She turns twelve in two weeks. If her mom isn’t pregnant soon, they won’t make it before her thirteenth.”

“And what if something happens to them before her thirteenth?”

“Same thing as with your parents. You were Heir Apparent, so you take over.”

“I really do need lessons on this,” Hari grumbles. Draco laughs.

“Well, you were raised by muggles, after all.”

The party carries on, filled with food, adults posturing towards each other, children giggling at the fireworks that had been set off just before midnight, and gratuitous applause at the strike of the New Year.

Families that had brought their children either take their leave within the quarter hour after the New Year or send them upstairs to one of the spare rooms to use for the night. Daphne, Pansy, Blaise, Hari, and Draco all crowd into Draco’s room. Daphne’s sister has made herself at home in a different room with a few other children close to her own age.

“Alright, we can all tell something happened with you two, spit it out.” Blaise nudges at Draco with his toes once they’re all settled, lounging on the bed.

“We went and claimed our rings at Gringotts,” Draco announces.

“Oooh, that is exciting,” Pansy giggles. “So tonight was your first night using your titles. Come on, then, introduce yourselves. Let’s hear it.”

“Heir Draco Lucius Malfoy, Heir to House Malfoy.” Draco turns to stare at Hari, clearly attempting to hold in his snickers. Hari sighs.

“Lord Hari James Potter,” there’s a shocked intake of breath—they’d all heard him introduce himself earlier, but that was the lie. “Lord of House Potter, Baron of House Peverell and of House Black, Earl of Gryffindor, Duke of Slytherin, Heir to Hogwarts, and Count of House Gaunt.”

There’s a long pause.

“Damn.” Blaise simply blinks at him.

“That is…”

“Quite the mouthful,” Daphne finishes.

“Heir to Hogwarts,” Pansy murmurs, “that means you can get rid of Dumbledore.”

“I know. But I have to wait until I turn thirteen.”

“So the meeting my mother is having with Draco’s, Theo’s, Pansy’s and Daphne’s fathers has to do with this,” Blaise says. “I suppose there will be a vow of secrecy involved.”

“Probably,” Hari agrees, “We were going to let the goblins handle the whole situation, but since Chief Warlock has to clear which cases are heard and which aren’t…”

“You’re waiting until you turn thirteen and can force the cases through by overturning his decisions with a vote of no-confidence by yourself and your alliance bloc,” Daphne assumes. The group just stares at her. “What? Just because my father thinks I can’t handle it doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“I’m mostly just surprised you got it entirely correct. Except I don’t technically need an alliance bloc to do it, just one alliance.” The three state their confusion at this, so Hari explains his votes. “Potter, Peverell, and Black are all Most Ancient and Noble Houses, so I have fifteen votes there. Plus three votes from the Ancient and Noble House of Gaunt and fourteen from two Founding Houses, I total thirty two votes. It would only take one alliance to overrule a Ministry vote.”

The three start laughing, falling over themselves.

“You’re going to rule the world,” Pansy chokes out, “and no one will be able to stop you.”

“When I have kids, I’m splitting this up. They each get at most, two titles. And the Gryffindor-Slytherin thing is getting split, too.”

“How did you get Houses Slytherin and Gaunt anyway?” And so the explanations continue until they all manage to fall asleep in a puppy pile, still dressed in their formal wear.


	9. Plotted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book two is going strong! Much better than I thought it was last night, to be honest. I'm really happy about that. It was a legitimate concern for a little while there. In any event, that one should be wrapping up in the next day or two, so I'll be able to start on book three!
> 
> There's some interesting information about alliances, Dumbledore, and plots on both side of the so-called battle. I also decided to include some of how the magical government was created. I just thought a different take on it could be interesting. Hope you like it! Let me know your thoughts!  
~Mav

“Heir Potter,” Theo is standing at the entrance to their compartment.

“Heir Nott,” Hari replies. “Come in, sit.”

“Thank you.” Theo takes the seat directly across from Hari. “I heard something interesting from my father this past week. I was informed that our House will be aligning itself with yours.”

“I’m quite pleased to hear that.” Hari smirks at Theo.

“I also heard that we are maintaining a secret for you, so as to limit Dumbledore’s power.”

“This is also true.”

“I will vow to keep your secret, if you should wish to tell me.” Interesting. And it’s not like Theo doesn’t seem like a nice boy. They get along, though Theo is less outgoing than the kids in Hari’s group, hence his tendency to stick with the other half of their year.

“Well, for one, my title is actually Lord,” Hari tells him, “and I’ve inherited more than Dumbledore is aware of.”

“Well, then, Lordling Potter, I suppose we are maintaining this secret until your first day in court?” When Hari confirms this, Theo rises. “It will be quite entertaining to watch,” Theo smirks, “I look forward to witnessing the announcement.” The boy takes his leave after bowing politely and the compartment is quiet for a minute.

“It’s a good thing he dislikes Dumbledore as much as we do,” Draco says.

“All of Slytherin dislikes Dumbledore as much as, if not more than, we do,” Blaise snorts.

“I think Father mentioned speaking to Lord Flint as well, as it would be beneficial for Marcus to know your status,” Draco adds.

“Why would it be beneficial?”

“Since you’re on the team. If you were to be injured or something, he would be able to control the situation for you.”

“Control the situation?”

“He would know to notify Madame Pomfrey that your personal Healer should be contacted,” Draco explains, “and that privacy and safety wards should be set up around your hospital area.”

“They’re a little less strict about it for Heirs, but the same general protocol applies,” Blaise adds, “you being the last of many Houses would be reason enough for typical Lord procedures to apply.”

“Okay. Last question before we talk about something more interesting,” Hari says. “Why does everyone call me ‘Lordling’ instead of ‘Lord’?”

“Because you’re not old enough to claim your seat yet,” Pansy tells him, “once you turn thirteen and go to your first Wizengamot session, that’ll stop. You should still introduce yourself as ‘Lord’, though.”

“Year and a half,” Hari whispers to himself, “I’ve only got to make it a year and a half. So, what did you all do the rest of your break?” There’s snickers from everyone, but the conversation eases into something more enjoyable.

Hari finds himself subject to Daphne’s whims with his hair once more while Draco and Pansy discuss her combat lessons. Soon, his hair is twisted up into a twist of braids and curls ending in a bun at the top of his head.

Eventually, the train stops and lets them out to the carriages.

“What are those?” Hari asks, gesturing subtly to the large, black horse-like creatures.

“What are you talking… oh, you can see the thestrals?” There’s a sympathetic look on Daphne’s face.

“What are thestrals?”

“The things pulling the carriages. Most people can’t see them. Only people who’ve witnessed death,” the girl explains quietly. “I wouldn’t let on that you can, if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“It… just, people would pity you.”

“But who did he see die?” Draco asks. When the four give him an ‘are you stupid’ look, he blushes. “Oh, right. That.”

They ride up to the castle and endure the feast, which includes a lot of glaring from Dumbledore, one of the man’s ridiculous speeches, and the singing of the school song, the Weasley twins seemingly taking joy in making it last as long as possible. Finally, everyone is sent to the common room.

“Welcome back,” Professor Snape says from his position by the fireplace, “to another term. For fifth and seventh years, may your studying be effective. As you can see, a large portion of the common area has been altered. For the first years, I will explain. Every spring term, half of the common room is turned into a study area for fifth and seventh years so they may work together on subjects for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. To anyone who may need assistance in their studies, please refrain from asking the fifth and seventh years and please note that that study area is exclusively for them. Anyone else, please study at your desks or in the library.

“I would like to congratulate everyone on managing to maintain our lead for the House Cup last term. Let’s maintain that this term and win it, once more.

“Lastly, I was told to inform you of a new policy pertaining to breaks which states that students may only return to their homes and must otherwise present a permission slip from their parents to go to a friend’s home. However, as this rule has not been ratified by the Board of Governors, it cannot be enforced, and I encourage you to enjoy your breaks as you will.” The room breaks out in quiet laughter. As if Professor Snape would ever encourage following one of Dumbledore’s policies. “Let’s have a great term,” the man says, “and please, remember that I am just across the hall if you ever are in need of assistance.”

“Draco,” Hari asks when they get to the dorm room, “who is my personal Healer?”

“I guess you’ll need to contact Griphook for that,” Draco shrugs, “I only know my family’s Healer.”

Hari groans and sits at the desk to write the letter.

“Send it through Uncle Sev. He’s your best bet at ensuring the mail isn’t searched.”

So Hari makes the short trek over to Professor Snape’s rooms.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Could I have a moment of your time?” Professor Snape steps back to allow Hari into the room. “I want to send a letter to Gringotts, but I don’t want to risk Dumbledore opening it.”

“You think he’s searching your mail?”

“I’ve never sent any mail besides the catalogue orders. But I wouldn’t put it past him.” Professor Snape appears to concede the point and draws out a slightly larger envelope than the one Hari is holding.

“Did you include a message in the letter to owl it to me instead of yourself?”

“I did.”

“Very good.” Professor Snape scribbles something on a small piece of parchment and turns to Hari. “Have you sealed it yet?”

“Sealed it?”

“You have your ring, do you not?”

“I do,” Hari eyes him warily.

“Shift it up slightly so it’ll be easier to press into the wax,” Professor Snape instructs. Hari eyes him warily. “Trust me.” So Hari does what he says and shifts the ring up so it won’t burn him. As he does, the Potter cobalt grows and warps, displaying the family crest. It’s too small to really see clearly, but the ‘P’ in the middle makes it rather clear. Professor Snape lights a candle in the appropriate shade of blue and drips the sealing wax onto the envelope.

“Now, press the stone in,” he says and Hari does, moving quickly so the wax doesn’t dry. “Well done,” Professor Snape tells him with a small smile after inspecting the seal. “This way they know the letter is from you, despite it being delivered by someone else and requesting the return be sent to someone else. It leaves a small imprint of your magic on it, too.”

“It’s like a signature.”

“It is your signature.” When Hari looks at him questioningly, Professor Snape simply wraps the envelope in the new piece of parchment and sets it into his envelope. “I’m sure Lucius will explain it to you in your private lessons.”

“Dumbledore approved those?”

“Dumbledore doesn’t have to know,” Professor Snape sneers, “instead, he is under the impression that you, Draco, and Heir Nott will be working on more advanced potions with me as you three are the best in your year.”

“But we’ll actually be seeing Lord Malfoy.”

“Three days a week, you will see Lord Malfoy. Twice a week, we will review a potion, as protection in case he decides to sit in on any of the lessons. This will begin next week, so you have this week to adjust to being back at school.”

“I’ll let Draco and Theo know.”

“Very well, Lordling Potter,” Professor Snape offers a small smile and passes Hari his potions. “Off you go, then.”

Hari hurries to the door and turns back for one last question, “why aren’t titles used at school? Shouldn’t they be?”

“They should, but like the fact that the Wizarding Culture class was removed for muggleborn first years, Dumbledore believed it would alienate students and made a rule that we must use only ‘mister’ and ‘miss’ for students.”

“As you seem aware of my titles,” Hari smirks at Professor Snape, “you should know that as soon as I can, I’ll be changing that fact. As well as returning the class to the curriculum. It seems almost useful.” Hari rolls his eyes and offers a ‘goodnight’ before returning to the room.

“Did you guys know there used to be a ‘Wizarding Culture’ class here?” He demands, bursting into the dorm room.

“What?”

“There used to be a class for muggleborn or muggle-raised first years called ‘Wizarding Culture’ that was an introduction to the wizarding world and Dumbledore got rid of it! He’s also the reason none of us are referred to by our titles.”

“Aaaahhhh,” Blaise falls on the bed, pretending to be stabbed through the heart and starts laughing. “That actually explains a lot.”

“How are muggleborns supposed to integrate if they’re not taught our culture?” Draco fumes, earning agreements from the others in the room. He whips around to Hari. “Heir Hogwarts, you are fixing this as soon as you’re old enough.”

“No duh,” Hari replies. “I could’ve used that class. Though, we should probably also offer summer catch-ups for older students since it was only for first years.”

“Don’t worry about it now,” Blaise says, “you can’t do anything until you turn thirteen.”

“And you really can’t do anything until you get your hands on a copy of the original Charter,” Draco adds. “Which Father can do for you over the summer. You can start making plans then.”

“Speaking of your father,” Hari turns to where Theo is reading, “Theo, come over here for a second.” Theo glares at first, but gives in when Hari just raises an eyebrow.

“What do you want?” he huffs.

“Did Professor Snape inform you about our ‘advanced potions lessons’?”

“What?” Draco and Theo ask in unison.

“As a cover for the fact that Lord Malfoy will be coming to give me politics lessons, you two will be joining me as we’re the top three in our year for potions. Three days a week, we’ll study politics and the other two, Professor Snape will review a more difficult potion with us, just in case Dumbledore decides to interrogate anyone.”

Theo sighs, “another class?”

“I’m sure if you don’t want to pay attention in politics, you could bring homework or a book, but you will need to pay attention for potions so you can at least talk about it.”

“I’m fine with the potions thing, I like learning about them. I just hope Lord Malfoy doesn’t see fit to assign us homework.”

“I don’t think he could, since we wouldn’t want to get caught doing it.” Theo mulls this over for a moment, then gives a little nod.

“Alright, that’s fine, then.” Theo returns to his bed and book and the Blaise calls to them from his spot on the bed.

“Do you think the rest of us could come for the politics days, too?”

“I’ll ask Professor Snape tomorrow.”

* * *

The first week of classes go by rather quickly, the most notable event being Hari’s visit to Madame Pomfrey. Even then, all she told him was that he should continue on with the current treatment plan. It was simple collecting the paperwork from her and forwarding it to Lucius through Professor Snape. Even Galeru offers little entertainment, considering he is confined to the Slytherin dungeons.

It was just before the first lesson with Lucius and Professor Snape when a knock on their dorm room came.

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape says when Draco opens the door. “A letter arrived for you.” Hari jumps up and darts over, taking it with hastily expressed gratitude.

“What is it?” Blaise asks from his desk.

“My letter from Gringotts, about who my family’s Healer is.” He tears open the envelope and skims the contents.

_Lord Potter,_

_The personal Healer in your parents’ employ was Healer Marvin Rathcliffe. He presently works at a private practice and has no pay as a personal Healer. Should you approach him looking to re-hire, it is likely he would be amenable. _

_His address is listed on the back if you would prefer to contact him yourself or you may reply to this letter and I will contact him on your behalf._

_Many thanks for the delivery of the paperwork. After review, we would appreciate you allowing one of our healers to perform one of their own scans, which may turn up information a wizarding scan would not. If you are amenable, a goblin can come to you or you may come here on your Ostara break._

_May your gold ever grow,_

_Griphook_

“What’s it say?” Draco tries to peek over Hari’s shoulder.

“The name of my family’s personal Healer, and that they’d like me to have a goblin healer perform a scan,” Hari says and passes the letter over to him. “I need to write them back.” Hari stands and crosses to his own desk, scratching out a reply asking Griphook to reach out to Rathcliffe for him, as well as agreeing to see them over Ostara break.

“Okay, that’s written,” Hari spins in his chair to face the others. Theo casts a tempus charm.

“We should go. The potions room is a bit of a walk,” he says and collects his bag. Draco, Hari, and Blaise follow his lead and meet Pansy and Daphne in the common room.

“Are Millicent and Tracey not coming?” Hari asks.

“They’re not heirs,” Pansy tells him. The walk to the potions room is quiet with the addition to the group, making the atmosphere slightly uncomfortable.

“Welcome,” Lucius smiles from his position on top of Severus’ desk. He looks over the faces of the six children, who greet him formally with slight bows. Heir Nott and Heir Parkinson don’t seem particularly interested, but also not so detached so as to be a detriment.

“Hello, Father,” Draco beams at him. They take seats across the front row and Lucius waves his wand at a piece of chalk.

“We’re going to start at the very beginning,” he starts, “with the most basic information to make sure you all fully understand. I don’t want there to be any discrepancies in your knowledge that cause confusion.” Heir Nott closes his eyes for a second and takes a slow breath, seeming put out by the idea, but when he opens them again, he simply picks up a quill and gives Lucius his full attention.

“Put that down,” Draco hisses, slapping Hari’s quill out of his hand. “You listen, we can duplicate my notes later.” Lucius notes that as soon as Draco says this, Heirs Zabini, Parkinson, and Greengrass set theirs down, too. He struggles not to huff a little laugh at this. It is a good thing, apparently, that he insisted on handwriting practice for Draco for all those years.

“If you’re all ready,” Lucius says and waves his wand once more. The chalk writes the word ‘Camelot’ on the board. “The basis of our government, if not our entire culture, begins in Camelot. Merlin, seeing that the city of Camelot, home to hundreds of thousands of wix and even more muggles, had lost its king without an heir, sealed a sword in a stone with a spell. The man or woman capable of withdrawing Excalibur from the stone would be worthy of becoming king.

“Arthur Pendragon, nearly a full year later, was still a boy when he drew the sword. Unbeknownst to the people of the land, the spell was actually set to release the stone only to the child of the previous king who had been kidnapped as a babe. Arthur took the throne at age thirteen. This age is now the age we allow Heirs to take their seats as Lord.

“He ruled with Merlin at his side, as well as his close friend, Sir Lancelot. Sir Lancelot is the beginning of the Gryffindor line, though most will attribute it to Sir Galahad, his son, due to Lancelot’s betrayal of Arthur. Sir Percival is the start of the Ravenclaw line. Sir Bors founded Hufflepuff. Lastly, Sir Kay founded Slytherin. The new names of their lines did not come until the founding of Hogwarts, but this is where their ancestry dates to. They were the only four wizards of the Knights of the Round Table; even King Arthur was muggle.

“When Mordred rose against Arthur, Merlin saw the need to set the Statute of Secrecy into place. He created a new government for the wix, with the four knights at his side. They were the foundation of the Wizengamot. Merlin saw fit to allow the people a say in their own government and the five worked tirelessly to design the Ministry of Magic. The name indicates a separation from muggles and that it governs all magical creatures, not just wix. Then, it had many less departments than it does today, beginning with only five, as well as the Minister. But many wix weren’t happy. Under the muggle kings, Lords ruled over certain areas in the king’s name. To appease them, these ten Lords were added to the Wizengamot, and the voting system established. Ten points for Merlin, seven for the Founders, five for each Lord, and one for each head of a department at the Ministry.

“Over time, more Lords moved into the area, though this was long after Merlin and the original members of the Wizengamot had passed. They demanded to be added to the government. This happened once more and lead to the naming of the tiers of Houses.

“Originally, the Statute of Secrecy allowed no muggles to be told of magic, not even in cases of marriage or muggleborns, so for a long time, wix did not mingle with muggles and all remained pureblooded, neglecting to tell muggleborns of their heritage. Allowances were made for muggleborns and they were allowed into our society and this caused departments in the Ministry to be added for their safety. It is from here that less and less pureblood lines continued on and more and more allowances were made within the Statute.

“Know this: while there are only twenty-eight so-called pureblood families left, it is not truly because their blood is pure. It is tradition and culture make them pure. Many of these lines do contain muggleborn blood, but these muggleborns assimilated into wizarding culture so well so as to be accepted by the pureblood families.” The pureblood children in the room stare, jaws dropped in… horror? Lucius mentally shakes his head. No, must be awe.

“That is the foundation of our government and how it developed to what we have today. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lord Malfoy,” the group chorus’, all but Heir Nott, who continues to scribble words on his page.

“Good. It has been about forty-five minutes, which I feel is an appropriate time for these lessons. Professor Snape will present basic facts about the potion you will be studying this week. Listen closely—it is our cover, after all,” Lucius winks at the group and gestures for Severus to take his place. On his way out the door, he sets a gentle hand on Draco’s shoulder. At least now, he’ll get to see his son almost every day.

Severus watches Lucius leave, then glances at the chalkboard, which has a shorthand version of everything he’d just said. Draco and Mr. Nott both scramble for new parchments, then look up, waiting patiently.

“The potion we will be studying…”


	10. Unbound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I've written pretty much non-stop all day today and my roommate had to yell at me to eat. I'd say book two is coming along nicely. I'm going to finish it before I begin posting it, even if it's more than three chapters, so there might be a short delay. I don't really anticipate that being longer than a day, though, considering how quickly I'm writing it.
> 
> So, in here, we meet Kreacher, realize Dumbledore is worse than we originally thought, and make some summer plans. Nothing that really requires a warning, I don't think. If I say anything else, I'll spoil the chapter, so enjoy! Let me know your thoughts!  
~Mav

Over the course of the next two months, they go to ‘advanced potions’ every day. On the days they actually brew, Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise work on their actual potions homework in the back of the room, but the rest of the time, they sit up front, rotating who takes notes. Only Hari is left out of the rotation, since he needs to understand it the most. Even seeing Lucius every day, however, they still aren’t past the foundations of the Wizengamot.

The government, it seems, is incredibly complex. It doesn’t help at all that they keep making amendments to how it should run. In fact, the addition of the Chief Warlock was a particularly long lesson and it hurts Hari’s head to think about how long it must have been to live through. They’ve discussed everything from how Aurors and Hit Wizards work to the way court cases find their way into the Wizengamot rather than being presented to a typical judge. They even had a discussion on why the Weasleys don’t have a seat. Or, rather, why they choose to never use their seat. That was a particularly heated day.

With every passing day, Hari reports to Lucius and Professor Snape just how bad his scar hurts in DADA. And every time, he finds himself having to report that the pain is getting more and more intense.

But finally, the start of Ostara break rolls around. They get a full week off. The children somehow make it to the train without Dumbledore realizing that Hari isn’t still in the castle and, before the old man can make the trek to the station, it departs.

They reach the station without interruption and go immediately to Malfoy Manor to drop off their items before immediately leaving for Gringotts.

“May your gold have grown,” Hari says, stepping up to the front desk. The goblin raises an eyebrow.

“And your obstacles fallen,” he replies. “How can we assist you today, Lord Potter?” Hari has to work to hide the surprise at the goblin knowing his name.

“I need to speak with Master Griphook about receiving a health scan.” The goblin nods and scribbles something on a parchment before snapping his fingers over it. Griphook approaches only a minute later.

“Lord Potter, may your gold have grown,” he says as he reaches them.

“And your obstacles fallen, Master Griphook.”

“Come, I have the Healer in a private room this way.” And Griphook hurries off, leaving them to rush after him into a room they’ve never seen before.

“Well, you’ve made a good impression,” Lucius murmurs to Hari. Draco and Narcissa nod silent agreements. Hari shrugs.

“May your gold have grown, Lord Potter,” a young goblin states when he enters.

“And your obstacles fallen,” Hari returns.

“I am Healer Ripclaw,” the goblin states, “I will be performing the scan. If you would, please lay here on the cot and I will endeavor to make this as quick as possible.”

Hari positions himself as instructed and waits as magic ripples around him while Healer Ripclaw chants. Finally, the scan is over, but Healer Ripclaw is clucking over the results discontentedly.

“I will begin with what I am least concerned about and work up to what will need to be handled with utmost care,” he tells them and his voice brooks no arguments. “I presume you are alright with the House of Malfoy remaining as you brought them with you, correct, Lord Potter?”

“That’s correct.” Draco comes to sit next to Hari on the cot and takes his hand. Narcissa and Lucius sit close, but in their own chairs.

“Very well. This first section would appear on a wizarding scan. You are underweight, as you know. I can see you have been gaining weight since the beginning of the year. Due to undernourishment, you are shorter and slighter than you would naturally be. Again, you have made progress this year. Undernourishment caused deficiencies of the organs and immune system. Your immune system will continue to restore itself as your general health improves and your organs were corrected via health potions earlier this year. The break in your arm was set properly just two and a half months ago. Burns on your arms were healed, but the remaining scarring is untreatable, as is what is left on your back after potions removed the recent damage. You received treatment for damage caused by untreated illnesses. You wear glasses for damage to your eyes, though that can also be corrected.

“As for what only goblin scans could detect, we must cross into spell damage. It appears that warding and curses were laid wherever you previously lived that caused damage. Several were to lower resistance and willpower and increase obedience. Some caused nightmares and others induced a state of acceptance, likely the reason you never tried to run away. These have faded significantly and will continue to fade as you spend longer away from the location they were placed.

“There is also a block on a significant portion of your magic and, interestingly, this has caused you to bond with a wand that cannot properly channel your power. It is important to note that while this block was placed malevolently, as the person who placed it could never have known the following information, it likely saved your life. The final results of the scan show that you have a piece of a soul within you that does not belong to you.” Healer Ripclaw stops here and looks at Hari.

“What can we do about… getting it out?” Hari chokes out in a raspy whisper. Draco clutches his hand tighter. The Malfoys are pale.

“We can draw it out, though it may be beneficial to do one more test before completing the procedure.”

“What test?” Lucius demands.

“A test to determine where the rest of the soul is. As the soul is bound to Hari, the other part cannot leave this world. It must be somewhere.”

“Do it.” Hari tugs Draco off the cot and lays back down.

Healer Ripclaw hovers a clawed finger over Hari’s scar. “This may hurt, but it will show you where the other piece is. Try to memorize it.” Hari nods and the finger presses down as Healer Ripclaw cries out in the goblin language.

_Black book. Diary. Vault._

_Ring. Gaunt. Heir. Vault._

_Cup. Hufflepuff crest. Vault._

_Tiara. Ravenclaw crest. Dancing Trolls._

_Locket. Slytherin crest. Cabinet._

_Purple. Wrap. Head. Robes. Garlic. Castle._

The pain cuts out and Hari comes back to reality. Healer Ripclaw offers him a pain potion, which he gulps down gratefully.

“More than one,” Hari manages to whisper.

“Can you tell us them?” Lucius leans over, resting a hand on Hari’s arm.

“A diary, the Gaunt heir ring, a cup with the Hufflepuff crest, a tiara with the Ravenclaw crest, a locket with the Slytherin crest, and a person. Wore a purple head wrap and smelled like garlic,” Hari smirks self-deprecatingly, “Quirrell is the only one I know who does that.”

“Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup, Ravenclaw’s Diadem, Slytherin’s Locket, his Gaunt Heir ring, likely his personal diary, and a follower,” Lucius muses. “I know where we can find four of those. The Diadem and Locket, however, I have not seen for a long time.”

“What do you…” Hari eyes Lucius warily.

“A long time ago, I made a foolish decision to follow a wizard who strove to preserve wizarding tradition. Then, when I got in too far to back out without forfeiting the lives of my wife and son, I realized his true goal. You stopped me from having to make the decision between my honor and the lives of my family,” Lucius informs Hari. “On one hand, it was the worst decision I ever made, on the other hand, it means I can help today.” He rises.

“I believe, as Lord Black, Lord Potter has access to Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault. He would like to remove Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup from the vault. I would like to retrieve the Gaunt Heir ring and a diary from my own,” Lucius announces and is promptly lead from the room by Griphook.

“I will begin extracting the soul from you,” Healer Ripclaw tells Hari and begins to chant, holding his hands over the scar, a jar clutched in one with a lid in the other. The chanting continues as Hari’s back arches and he screams from the pain, then fades suddenly and is gone altogether with no warning. He looks up to see a black vapor trapped in the jar.

“There are options to destroy it, but most would take significant amounts of time.” Healer Ripclaw turns to Narcissa. “Are you capable of controlling Fiendfyre?”

“I am,” she confirms and Healer Ripclaw sets the jar on the ground in the center of the room, away from all furnature.

“Cast and do not let up until the scream stops,” Healer Ripclaw instructs. “Lord Potter, I ask that you return later to remove the block on your magic and correct your vision.” Hari nods and turns to watch Narcissa.

Red hot flame explodes from Narcissa’s wand, leaping forward in the form of a dragon to consume the jar in front of her. A scream echoes in the room, unearthly and bloodcurdling. It stops as abruptly as it begin and Narcissa forces the flames out.

“One down,” she murmurs as Lucius returns. “Did you get all three?”

“I did,” he glances at the ash on the ground and places the items around it. “Fire works to destroy these? That seems rather simplistic.”

“No,” Narcissa grimaces, “it’s Fiendfyre. Stay back.” He steps away and she casts once more. The individual screams are quieter, but together, are almost deafening.

“We will work on finding the final three,” Lucius assures the goblins.

“That would be much appreciated,” Griphook says.

“Griphook?” Hari’s voice is soft, “is it possible to remove the curses and wards at the house that were affecting me?”

“We could bring in a curse breaker, yes.”

“Hari,” Draco squeezes his hand, “we swore you wouldn’t go back there.”

“I’m just covering my bases,” Hari argues. “There’s at least some chance there won’t be a way for us to pull me from the house this summer. But,” he turns to the elder Malfoys, “I am certain there would be a way to keep me magically hidden from the Dursleys during my stay.”

“Well, we could ward your room against muggles, stock it with food, and provide you an alternate way in and out of the house,” Narcissa muses. “It’s safer than trying to remove you this year.”

“No!” Draco yells, “I promised!”

“Draco,” Lucius admonishes, “we promised he’d never have to deal with them again. We’re going to keep that promise.”

“Goblin warding,” Griphook interrupts, “is more powerful. Our curse breaker can ward the room you require so it only lasts the summer, and build in a hidden entrance.”

“Could I meet the curse breaker?” Hari asks.

“We have several, though I believe only a few who would best suit your needs.” Griphook scrawls something on a piece of parchment. “You want someone who will blend in if noticed walking near the house and who can be discrete. Someone powerful, as well. Only one fits all the requirements who isn’t already on a job.”

There’s a knock at the door. Griphook calls for him to enter.

“May your gold have grown,” the man says with a slight bow.

“And your obstacles fallen,” Griphook and Hari return. Griphook continues, “This is William Weasley. He’s been a curse breaker here for going on three years now and is exemplary in his position.” Griphook turns to Mr. Weasley. “We will expect the utmost discression for this job.”

“Of course,” he agrees immediately, “whatever you need to ensure that.”

“Very well,” Griphook nods. “I’m sure you know Lord and Lady Malfoy. This is Heir Draco Lucius Malfoy. They are here on behalf of the person in need of our services. Before I introduce him, do you promise not to mention a word of who this job is for or where it is located.”

He pauses a moment, then asks, “Is my family allowed to know if I’m in town or not?”

“It is nearby, but please let them remain under the assumption that you are working in-house for now.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. And as for not mentioning who the job is for?”

“I promise. Would you like a vow or oath?”

“You are a Gringotts employee. I would hope it is unnecessary.” The man nods his agreement with a slight, amused smile and Griphook gestures to Hari. “This is Lord Hari James Potter.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Potter,” he bows slightly, “Please, call me Bill. What will I be doing for you?”

“I need some curses and wards discretely removed from a house, as well as wards to hide a certain room for the duration of Hogwarts’ summer break.” Bill glances at Griphook.

“I can give more detail,” he says. “The curses and wards must be removed without the caster knowing. The new wards will be laid to hide a room entirely from muggles as well as allow entry to the person staying in them in such a way that no muggles will notice.”

“It may also be beneficial if you could add a proviso to the wards that they will not change if the room within is expanded upon,” Narcissa adds. “I fear the room may be too small to spend an entire summer in.”

“It would also be best if you could do this without the muggles who live there seeing you,” Hari says.

“I’ll have no problem removing and setting the wards,” Bill assures them, “but I’m not certain I’ll be able to do it entirely without being seen. Some curses react badly if there’s other spells in use in their area.”

“If you went during the muggle work day, it should be fine,” Hari says, “but they don’t like magic, so avoiding them would be for the best.”

“I can do that,” Bill promises.

“Good,” Griphook nods sharply, “that is handled. Thank you, Mr. Weasley.”

“May your gold ever grow,” Bill says with a bow before slipping from the room.

“I trust this is a healthy compromise?” Griphook raises an eyebrow at Draco.

“I don’t like that he’s going back there at all,” Draco huffs, “but if he has to, it’s best they don’t know he’s there.”

“If you would,” Narcissa addresses Griphook, “please let me know when the wards and curses have been handled so I can go and adjust the inside of the room.”

“A notice will be sent,” Griphook assures her. “Lord Potter, if you could confirm, the address in question is 4 Privet Drive?”

“It is, thank you, Master Griphook.” Hari turns to the Healer, “Thank you for your help today, Healer Ripclaw.”

“If that is all,” Griphook rises, watching them carefully.

“May your gold ever grow,” Hari states with a small bow.

“And your enemies cower at your feet,” Griphook replies.

They take their leave.

“Lucius?” Hari asks as they walk towards the restaurant they’ve chosen for lunch. “If goblin warding is so strong, how did Dumbledore know I was there last time?”

Lucius looks down at Hari with a crinkle in his brow. “I will have to do research on that.”

“And why he didn’t bother coming the previous times I’d been to Gringotts with you?”

“It is likely he presumed that you were picking up coins to go holiday shopping the first time, but when you went a second time just a few days later, it became suspicious,” Lucius assumes. “I will let you know what I find out.”

* * *

The next morning, they gather around the breakfast table, Hari grudgingly ‘complimenting’ Draco once more in stunning green robes and grey underclothes. The conversation, understandably, ends up on the horcruxes.

“This would be far simpler if we knew where the last few were,” Lucius bemoans.

“I got flashes of almost a location? Kind of?”

“What do you mean?” Lucius’ eyes bore into him intensely.

“Well, I knew the ones you brought up were in a vault. That was easy to tell. For whatever reason, I saw dancing trolls for the diadem, the cabinet for Professor Quirrell, and some kind of cabinet for the locket.”

“Given we already had Quirrell’s location,” Lucius sighs, “it doesn’t help much. There’s too many cabinets in the world.”

“That’s true, but there’s a painting of dancing trolls at Hogwarts,” Narcissa mollifies.

“What?”

“How do you know that?” Draco asks, practically leaning across the table.

“I did go to Hogwarts, you know. There’s a room,” Narcissa smiles, “it used to be used rather commonly by the Slytherin girls because it was somewhere we could escape pureblood expectations. We could go and ignore etiquette. We called it the Room of Requirement. It would give you what you require, anything except food and water. It’s across from the painting of dancing trolls.”

“So…” Hari grins, “we could go pick up the diadem and handle Quirrell and then all we need to do is find the locket.”

“You will not be handling Quirrell,” Narcissa admonishes, “we will. You need not know the details and you do not need to worry about it.”

“But—“

“No.” Narcissa pins him with a look, “you are a child and, while I realize you are not used to going to adults for help, you should leave occurrences such as this to the adults. Besides the fact you are a child, the goblins confirmed that your magic has been bound and that leaves you weakened.”

Hari bows his head, accepting what she’s said with false grace. Draco nudges him with a shoulder.

“She’s right, we’re still kids. First years. There’s a reason our room is at the far back of the dorms,” he says. Hari nods.

“You two can go play if you want,” Narcissa offers, realizing Hari likely won’t eat any more that day. “Sirius asked if we could check one of the Black properties today, so we’ll go there this afternoon. Be ready at two.”

“Okay,” the boys chime and run off, ending up in Draco’s room to play with a set of charmed dragons that behave almost exactly like real ones, just tiny and not-dangerous.

They take lunch in their combined sitting room, then gather themselves and go down to the floo room.

“Are you two ready?” Narcissa smiles at them. They nod and she takes them outside to apparate.

“Where is the house?” Hari asks, staring at the empty lot in front of them.

“See that stone there?” Narcissa points to the wardstone by their feet, “you need to put just a drop of blood on it and the wards will allow us to access the house.” Hari takes the short knife she offers him and pricks his finger, allowing the blood to fall. Sure enough, the wards ripple and the house appears in front of them: 12 Grimmauld Place.

“From what I remember of coming here as a kid,” Draco grumbles, “it’s really dismal and the elf is mean.”

“That’s why we’re going to renovate,” Hari tells him and opens the door. A loud voice starts screeching.

“JUST WHO ARE YOU?” It seems to be coming from a portrait on the wall. Hari looks to Narcissa, confused.

“Aunt Walburga,” she calls out, stepping around him. “You remember Cissy, right? And my son, Draco?”

“Oh, of course I do. Hello, dears.” The portrait smiles pleasantly at them. “Who is your friend?” The question is directed at Draco, but Narcissa answers.

“A very powerful Lord who has inherited the Black properties and title,” she explains.

“Is that so?” Walburga eyes Hari warily. “And can he introduce himself?”

Narcissa leans down, “leave off your name.”

“Lord of House Potter, Baron of House Peverell and of House Black, Earl of Gryffindor, Duke of Slytherin, Heir to Hogwarts, and Count of House Gaunt,” Hari tells her and offers a slight bow, “Pleased to meet you, Lady Walburga.” One of the things Lucius had taught them was if greeting someone who had passed on their title but was once a Lord or Lady, you use their title with their given name, rather than family name.

“Hello, Lordling Potter,” she greets him. “So young and with such good manners.” Draco grins at Hari, who suddenly feels like they’re purposefully hiding something from her. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking to re-decorate all my properties to be more true to me and my family,” Hari says with a slight head tilt, trying to spin it so she won’t take offense to his objection to the horrid house around them. “Would you be able to tell me the name of the house elf maintaining this property?”

“KREACHER,” she screeches. “He’s right there, Lordling Potter.” Hari turns and sees an old, crabby looking elf.

“Hello, Kreacher,” Hari steps forward. “I’ve recently learned that I’ve inherited this property. Would you be able to help me re-decorate?”

“Yous is being Lordling Black?” The elf’s eyes narrow.

“Lordling Potter, technically, but I hold the Black Wizengamot seat, too.”

The elf nods sharply, “I’s be helping.”

“Wonderful, Kreacher. If you could start by cleaning the place up, I can send Narcissa with instructions on what else I’d like done later. For now, I’d like to walk through the house.”

“I’s be showing you around,” Kreacher informs him and starts walking, pointing to each door and explaining in far too much detail what is behind each.

Hari freezes at the sight of a small cupboard. It’s a dark wood with shining black handles and a dent just above the latch.

“Kreacher?”

“Young Master?”

“Is there a locket in this cupboard?”

“The locket is being from Master Regulus, Young Master. Master Regulus is wanting the locket destroyed. Kreacher is being unable to destroy the locket.”

“Could I see it?” Kreacher snaps his fingers and the locket is in his hand. Hari reaches out and turns it over, noting the similarities to what he’d seen with the goblins. “Narcissa, I think this is the Slytherin Locket we’ve been looking for.”

She leans in and studies it. “We’ll take it to the goblins and see if they can tell for certain.”

“Kreacher,” Hari makes eye contact with the elf, “we know how to destroy this, but we have to take it somewhere. Can I do that?” The elf brightens and looks far younger than he had just moments ago.

“Yous is helping Kreacher? Kreacher is giving!” And he hands the locket to Hari, who passes it off to Narcissa, who wraps it neatly in a handkerchief and slips it in her pocket.

“Thank you, Kreacher, that was very helpful,” Hari smiles at him and the elf grins back.

“Kreacher is thanking Young Master for helping Kreacher.” Kreacher bows to Hari then beckons for them to continue the tour. By the end, Hari wants to claw his eyes out at how horrendous the decorating is.

“Narcissa? Could you re-do this house in pale neutrals with accents of my House colors? Green, blue, red, and black?”

“I presume you want primarily warm tones?” She smiles down at Hari, knowing that as much as he likes Malfoy Manor, he finds it cold.

“Please.”

“I’d be glad to.”

“Kreacher, how long will it take you to clean?”

“A few days, Young Master.”

“Please come notify me at five in the evening the day you finish,” Hari orders, “I’ll be at Hogwarts in the Slytherin first year dorm.” He turns back to Narcissa. “I’ll have Lucius pass on the news, if that’s acceptable.”

“It is.”

“So,” Draco butts in, “we have to go to Gringotts again?”

“We do,” Narcissa shoots him a glare that distinctly says not to argue.

“Maybe I can have either the binding removed or my eyes fixed.”

“It may be safer for you to have the binding removed now, since you’ll go back to school the day after tomorrow and be able to bring your magic back under control.” She bends down to look him in the eye. “It’s going to be like starting from the beginning again.”

“I understand. Where should I go for the new wand? I assume we don’t want Dumbledore to know.”

“Gregorovich works on the continent. We’ll floo there from Gringotts and have one made specially for you,” Narcissa assures him. “Come along, we’ll apparate.” Outside, she holds an arm out for each of them and in an instant, they’re at Gringotts.

“May your gold have grown,” Hari approaches a desk inside. Once the goblin has managed to reply through his surprise, Hari asks, “could you send for Master Griphook for me? Tell him it’s Lord Potter.”

“Very well.” The goblin writes something down and waves his hand and just a minute later, a voice calls out to them.

“Lord Potter, may your gold have grown.”

“And your obstacles fallen,” Hari returns. “We have news of one of the topics from yesterday. May we speak on it privately?”

“This way.” Griphook leads them to a room similar to yesterday’s and gestures for them to sit. “Which aspect of yesterday would you like to speak about?”

“It’s two-fold, really. The first is that we believe we’ve found a Horcrux.”

“Hari found it, really,” Narcissa says, offering him a small smile, “I just brought it here.”

“I will send for Healer Ripclaw to investigate the item. The other order of business?”

“I’d like to have the block on my magic removed. If it’s taken off now, I have a few days to adjust before returning to school, enough time to get a new wand, and the rest of the year to adapt in a safe environment.”

“This is well thought out, very well.”

“It was Narcissa’s idea,” he tells Griphook. She smiles wanly at him, as if displeased he didn’t take credit and he huffs back at her. “It was.”

“I suppose.”

“Griphook,” a goblin’s voice comes. They exchange the typical greeting and Healer Ripclaw turns to Hari, repeating the process. “May I see the item?” Narcissa draws it out of her robes, setting it gently in his hands.

“Yes,” he determines after a moment, “this is definitely one of the Horcruxes. Very well done finding it this quickly. If you do not object, Lady Malfoy, would you be the one to destroy it once more?”

The locket is placed in the center of the room and Narcissa wastes no time in dispatching the flames and burning it to ash.

“And now for the binding,” Healer Ripclaw states. He ushers Hari back onto a cot and has him drink a potion, then begins chanting in gobbledygook. It’s several minutes before Hari cries out in pain. Then, it’s gone. A wave of euphoria washes through him, energy thrumming through every cell in his body. The colors around him seem brighter, sounds louder, and scents sharper.

“Oh, wow,” he whispers.

“Lord Potter, if you would relax,” Healer Ripclaw gives him a stern look.

“I am relaxed.”

“Perhaps a calming potion, then,” the goblin hums, glancing around at the items in the room that are hovering.

“I had heard you were a powerful baby,” Narcissa whispers, “but this is...”

“He is powerful,” Healer Ripclaw shrugs, “with a proper wand, it will be controlled.”

“May we use a floo to see Mykew Gregorovitch?”

“You may.” Griphook gestures to the fireplace in the back of the room. “It only goes out,” he warns, “to return, you will need to use the floo in the main lobby.” Narcissa nods and Hari says his goodbyes. They walk through the floo to find an open shop on the other side. The shelves are lined with various woods and materials and a few cases even have wands on them.

“What can I do for you?” Someone, presumably Gregorovitch, asks. Draco ducks behind Hari.

“Lordling Potter requires a new wand,” Narcissa tells him. His face becomes disdainful.

“And what happened to his previous?”

“It was unsuitable for him. He will require a custom wand, if you can.” She puts on a saccharine smile and waits.

“Unsuitable, hmm?”

“Can I tell him?” Hari whispers up to Narcissa. She offers the slightest nod, so he does. “There was a bind on the majority of my magic when I got my first wand. The goblins removed the binding and informed me that I would need a new wand to channel it properly.”

“They would be correct,” Gregorovitch agrees. “And so is Lady Malfoy. Power like that requires custom wands. Come, let us begin.”

He guides Hari into a back room and has him hold some type of stone. Fog swirls inside in varying colors. Gregorovitch studies the colors and hums.

“You’ll need a sturdy wood, one that can take some length… Between twelve and thirteen inches. Something thick but elegant.” He hums to himself and scans the shelving around them. “You may set that down.” He positions Hari in front of a table and lays out a dozen types of wood.

“These woods are capable of maintaining strength of disposition at the length you require. Close your eyes, pick them up, set aside the ones that feels most like home to you.” Hari does, slowly working his way through the woods. Some feel like nothing. Some almost hurt. Two feel comfortable, so he sets them to the side. Gregorovitch studies his choices and brings over another selection of woods, repeating the process. The third time through, Hari has barely touched one of the pieces when his lips begin to curl in a smile.

“That one, then,” Gregorovitch declares. “Hold it in your wand hand.” He sets the stone back into Hari’s left and the colors swirl again, differently than last time. “No scales or feathers for you. A hair? But it will need something to counterbalance it with a stubborn wood like that.” He hums and lays out several hairs and ‘balancing’ agents. “It is the same process, but keep the wood in your hand.”

Hari brushes his fingertips over each hair one at a time. His head tilts when he reaches a long black strand. It doesn’t quite shock him, but it sends a buzz up his arm. Gregorovitch tells him to pick it up and continue to the balancing agents. He slowly but surely traces his fingers over the vials of liquids and powders. Finally, one resonates into his core.

“That’s it,” Gregorovitch announces and snatches the items. “This shouldn’t take too long.” He leads them back to the front room and sets about his work.

“I would have thought wands take a long time to make,” Hari comments.

“They can,” Draco says, “but according to this book I read when I was in my wandmaking phase, in cases like this, where the ingredients want to become a wand, it doesn’t take long.”

“Want to become a wand?”

“Yes. Sometimes the ingredients are stubborn and don’t want to work with the others, but yours all seem pleased with each other.”

“How could you tell?”

“You looked happy every time you found one. He could tell, too.”

It’s a half hour later when he returns with a long, thin box and a small pouch.

He opens the case and extends his arms towards Hari, “Your wand, Lordling Potter.”

Hari stares for a moment, then reaches out and scoops it up reverently.

“Your wand is made of kingwood. Typically, kingwood is brown or purple, but rarely, it can be red, as yours is. It did not want to be plain, either, hence the slight design along the handle.” True enough, there are subtle etchings on the handle, which blends almost seamlessly into the smooth, perfectly tapered wand. “It is 12¾ inches long. Kingwood is known for protective qualities, an assertive will, and honesty. Truly a wood for kings. Your core is thestral hair and phoenix tears. Thestral hairs pair well with Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense. It is temperamental and stubborn and you must have a strong sense of self to use it, but it is strong and loyal. The phoenix tears are also stubborn, but lend a healing aspect to the wand. It is a wand for a leader.” Gregorovitch studies Hari for a moment. “That these stubborn materials chose you and blended so quickly is… impressive.” Hari nods and turns his eyes back to the wand. It is elegant and simple, but still masculine. It visibly looks strong. If he saw a wizard with this wand, he would trust them.

“Here,” Gregorovitch hands him the case and pouch, “it’s box and cleaning supplies. Will you require a holster?”

“For his wrist,” Narcissa says, “and one for Draco, as well.” Hari is doubtful his will fit along his forearm and expresses this. Narcissa laughs. “Magic, sweetheart,” she tells him. “Come see.”

In truth, holsters are more like leather bracelets, about an inch in width with a subtle loop meant to be placed at the inside of the wrist. Hari selects one in a striking matte black. It has a design etched in a shining black; simple, vine-like swirls that match the handle of his wand. Draco picks a holster in grey with real silver twining across it in an intricate design.

“Narcissa,” Hari realizes something suddenly, “I didn’t bring any money.”

“You have your ring, remember?” She waves her wand at his left hand and the glamour fades. “Slide it up like you would to seal an envelope and press it into the notch on the register.” Gregorovitch inputs the cost of Hari’s wand and supplies. Hari does as Narcissa had explained and there’s a soft ding on the other side of the counter.

“Thank you for your patronage, Lordling Potter. Please remember that new wands must be registered with the Ministry so the trace can be transferred,” he turns to Narcissa. “If there was a binding placed on him that was only just removed, then I presume you are masking that it is gone?”

“We are.”

“Ah,” the man nods, “this explains why you would come to the continent for a wand.” He studies Narcissa for a moment. “I presume you do not want me to share that Lordling Potter has a new wand.”

“That would be for the best. And, if you could, please refer to him as Heir Potter to others,” she crinkles her nose delicately, “once he has turned thirteen, he will announce his position, but we are biding our time.”

Gregorovitch smiles, “I will see to it that Lordling Potter’s identity and purchase remain confidential.” Narcissa presses her ring into the notch on the register.

“I presume you will be quite pleased with whom Lordling Potter divests you of in a year and a half.” The two share conspiring looks before Gregorovitch says his goodbyes and makes his way to the back room.

“Put your holster on, Hari.” Narcissa helps him latch it. “You slide your wand in like this.” She demonstrates and the wand disappears entirely. “To release it, simply curl your wrist all the way down and snap up.” Hari does and, sure enough, his wand is in his hand, ready to cast.

Narcissa proceeds to help Draco with his first holster and then, they return to Malfoy Manor through the floo.

“Now, then, let’s try some casting,” Narcissa smiles at Hari.

“But we can’t use magic outside of school!” Draco cries.

“Draco, dear, you know traces don’t exactly work in wizarding houses,” she gives her son a dry look and he looks sheepish. “Besides that, did you not hear what Mister Gregorovitch said? The trace must be transferred from Hari’s old wand. His current wand will not alert the Ministry.”

“So I’ll be able to practice over the summer, too,” Hari grins.

“You could, but not in front of Muggles or in your house at all. But when you come here for your politics lessons, we will review coursework for the next year.”

“Will Draco get to, as well?”

“He will, don’t worry,” she promises, “he’ll just have to use an ancestral wand. We found one that is amicable towards him. It’s what he’s been using to practice since he was seven.”

Hari’s eyes go wide, “is that why Slytherin tends to start out ahead of the other Houses?”

“It’s likely, yes.”

“It’s an advantage to being pureblood,” Draco chimes in, “and part of a House. Most wizarding children get some practice in, either with their parent’s wands or elder sibling’s, but pureblood Houses save wands, so children go through them to find one that they can at least practice with. There’s usually dozens to choose from, so we get better results than other families.”

Hari thinks about this for a few minutes. “It’s a flaw in the system.”

“Yeah, but we’re not going to point it out,” Draco huffs, “then we’d have to wait until we’re seventeen to do magic.”

“You said the trace doesn’t work as well here?” Hari looks to Narcissa.

“The trace picks up on the ambient magic in the house, so the Ministry will ignore small pulses of magic from it here and there. Wizarding children are able to cast small charms without drawing attention.”

“How regularly?”

“Most are able to do grooming charms, like to do their hair or make-up or freshen their breath or clean a stain from their robes daily.”

“Oh. I guess that’s not such a big deal then.”

Narcissa laughs softly, “it’s not like they’re pulling out their textbooks and practicing those on their wands. That’s for the wands without the trace. Go on, then, take out your wand.” Hari snaps his wrist and catches his wand. “Let’s start simple.”

Hari casts a _lumos_ and the tip of his wand almost blinds them until he manages to dial it back. They go through a progression of spells and, slowly but surely, he is able not to over-power them to the point of drawing attention to himself when they go back to school.


	11. Required

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're down to the last chapters! Both for this book and book two! It looks like I'm going to hit my word goal for book two for sure and I didn't even need to add in scenes I didn't really like, so that's exciting. Book two is already 37k, which I've written entirely since I began posting this. That's a very short amount of time to write that much and I'm very proud of myself for managing it.
> 
> In here, we have some the return from Ostara break, a relatively hefty time skip, an exciting event, some Dumbledore creepiness, and a comforting ending. No warnings for this one. Let me know your thoughts! Enjoy!  
~Mav

“What happened to ‘owl us the important stuff’?” Blaise glares at Draco.

“I did!”

“And you thought him having his magic unbound and it being that powerful wasn’t important?”

“Well...”

“Exactly.”

“So, Hari, recap all the major events that happened this break,” Pansy orders.

“We went to Gringotts, they pulled a piece of someone’s soul out of my head, we destroyed other pieces of the soul, we visited one of my Black properties and found another piece of the soul, took it to Gringotts to destroy, unbound my magic, got me a wand, and Draco fell off his broom three times in one flight.”

“That is not important information!” Draco shrieks, poking Hari in his ribs while the others laugh at his misfortune. “Besides, I caught myself every time.”

“Yeah, but it messed up your hair.”

“Shut up!” Draco crosses his arms and pouts.

“Let me get this straight,” Daphne snickers, “Mr. I’m-The-Best-Flyer-Ever over here fell off his broom three times and managed to mangle his hair in the process? I wish we had a pensieve.”

“What’s a pensieve?” Hari asks.

“Something you can put memories into,” Daphne explains, “to allows others to view them. But it also perfects the memory, so things in the background that you didn’t pay attention to the first time, you can view the next time.”

“Oh. I probably have one of those. I could have Kreacher bring it? House elves can get through Hogwarts wards, right?”

“Yeah, they can,” Blaise says, “but since when do you have a house elf?”

“I have multiple house elves since I inherited several different titles and the properties that come with them.” Hari sends Blaise an ‘are you stupid’ look and the girls and Draco snicker.

“More importantly,” Pansy cuts in, “let’s see that new, trace-free wand.”

Hari flicks his wrist and holds it out, letting them take in the shining red wood that’s almost delicate in it’s shaping.

“That is beautiful,” Daphne murmurs, leaning in to get a closer look with the others.

“Do a spell,” Blaise demands. Hari whispers a spell and swishes the wand gracefully, causing colorful lights to spring up around them. The spell is one for children who are scared of the dark and require nightlights.

“Oh, it’s so pretty,” Daphne smiles.

“It is,” Pansy agrees, reaching up to touch one.

“I’m thinking it’s more important that he has a wand that looks so regal,” Blaise points out. “You told us yourself that Gregorovitch said it’s a wand fit for a king. That means something.”

“People are going to notice it’s new,” Hari says, “It would be a problem if Dumbledore learned I got a new wand for supposedly no reason.”

“He’d check the binding,” Draco mutters, still pouting in the corner.

“If he’s the one who put it there,” Pansy agrees.

“He is,” Daphne says, “even if we can’t prove it, his other actions make it hard to believe it wouldn’t be him.”

“She’s got a point,” Blaise nods, “and, unfortunately, it’s a good one. All his behavior has been to control Hari. Binding his magic, especially when he’s this powerful, would keep Hari under his control. Even if he had to extort Hari with the promise of removing it.”

“Pity it’s one more card he doesn’t hold over me,” Hari smirks and the compartment dissolves into laughter.

“You could always cast a glamour over it,” Daphne suggests when they calm down, “you’ve gotten good enough at the ones on your hands.”

“I could,” Hari agrees, studying the wand. He closes his eyes for a moment, picturing the other wand, and waves his hand over it. The group watches while it ripples and warps until it looks exactly like the holly and phoenix feather wand.

“You’re incredible,” Pansy tells him. The others nod their agreement.

“Unfortunately,” Blaise sighs, “it’s time to get changed. Back to those depressing uniforms.”

Returning from Ostara break is much less eventful than Yule break, as more people stayed behind. Snape doesn’t even bother to give a speech in the common room, though there is a notice posted to remind everyone of polite common room behavior. Already, there’s a small group of seventh years studying at the provided areas. Hari and Draco lead the way into the dorm room and the group settles in to discuss break homework that, for the most part, still requires finishing.

It’s much less difficult getting back into the swing of classes this time and Hari’s pleased to note his scar doesn’t hurt in Quirrell’s class anymore. They start up politics lessons right away and it’s only a week in when they start the hunt for the portrait of the dancing trolls.

“I think we’ve searched every corridor in the castle,” Draco whines at the end of April, flopping back onto the bed.

“Nope,” Hari shakes his head, studying the rough map he’d drawn, “we’ve still got the entire seventh floor.” He shows Draco the map, which has every area they’ve searched crossed out.

“Oh, Merlin,” he whines, “all that?”

“We’ll start below the Astronomy Tower,” Hari decides. Draco rolls over with a groan, but agrees.

“Come on, get up, we’ve only got a half hour before the others expect us for politics,” Hari cajoles, trying to drag Draco out of the bed.

“Fine,” Draco sighs and stands up. “Let’s get this over with.”

They hurry up to the corridor and take their time, studying each portrait before moving on.

“This archway is blank,” Draco announces and turns around, “This… well, that’s literal.”

Hari hurries over and studies the picture, “that’s putting it lightly.” The image is, quite literally, dancing trolls.

“So that means,” Draco turns around, “that this is where the door is.”

“Back and forth, three times, thinking of lost items,” Hari says and begins to pace.

One: _I need to find something lost._

Two: _I need to find something lost._

Three: _I need to find something lost._

“The door!” Draco cries and darts over to open it up. “Oh, this is going to take forever,” he moans. “Not again.”

Hari peeks in over his shoulder and stares in horror at the mess of items in the room. It seems to extend forever in each direction.

“It won’t be that difficult,” Hari mutters, “I kind of know what it’s by. We’re looking for cabinets.”

Draco sighs, “we only have ten minutes,” and he walks into the mess. “What does that cabinet look like?”

Hari describes a dark oak cabinet with etchings of animals across the doors.

“It looks like… Like—“ he cuts off, staring in shock at the large cabinet next to him. “Like that.” He scrambles over, “Give me a boost! I need to see on top.”

Instead of Draco lifting him, a stepstool appears in front of him, just tall enough for him to see the top of the cabinet. Sitting there is the diadem, gleaming and beautiful.

“I almost feel bad about having to destroy this,” Hari says, “but at least it’ll stop Voldemort.”

“Yes, wonderful, now let’s go. I’ve got dust all over my robes.” Draco snaps his fingers impatiently and starts stalking towards the entrance.

“I’m coming.” Hari darts after Draco after tucking the diadem into his bag and they make their way down to the potions room.

“There you two are,” Blaise crosses his arms and glares. “You’ve been disappearing almost every day.”

“Sorry,” Hari says, “we won’t be disappearing anymore.”

“But _why_ were you disappearing?”

“Believe me, it was boring,” Draco grumbles.

Hari glares, “we can’t tell you yet, but soon.”

“How soon?”

“Likely by the end of the year,” Hari guesses, “but it’s not up to me.”

“Who is it up to?”

“I can’t say, sorry.”

“Silence!” Professor Snape sweeps into the room. “Hari, you said you wouldn’t be looking anymore?”

“No, we found it.”

“Good. Please pass it over.” Professor Snape holds his hand out impatiently, so Hari hands it over without asking. “The Headmaster will be sitting in on this lesson. Those of you not taking part in our potions work will move to the back of the room, where you work as quietly as possible. Draco, Hari, Theo, up front. We will discuss the theory behind the uses of dragon’s blood in Pepper Up versus Felix Felicis.”

“Hari, you didn’t bring parchment for yourself, did you?”

“No, I thought I wouldn’t need it!”

“Calm down,” Professor Snape orders, “you are muggle-raised. Simply say you aren’t adjusting well to quills, so Draco takes notes for you when he can.”

“Are… are you condoning lying to Dumbledore?” Hari crooks an eyebrow at Professor Snape, who returns the look.

“Would you rather tell him the truth?”

“Nevermind.”

“Very good. Let’s begin.” Professor Snape waves his wand and the chalk begins to write on the board. He begins to drone about the basic properties of the ingredients in Pepper Up. Then, Dumbledore arrives.

“Oh, wonderful, I see I haven’t missed much,” Dumbledore announces as he strides into the room. “Hello, Harry, my dear boy. Severus, what a wonderful topic! I did, after all, do research on dragon’s blood myself.”

“Headmaster,” Professor Snape nods politely, “I believe you mentioned you would simply be observing today.”

“Yes, yes, well, I—“

Professor Snape cuts him off, “I’m sure I can explain these simple concepts well enough for you to observe the children’s learning.” His dark eyes glint and Dumbledore’s flash dangerously.

“Of course,” the old man smiles, “splendid idea.” Dumbledore takes the seat closest to Hari and watches as Professor Snape begins once more.

“Harry, why are you not taking notes? Surely you cannot remember all of this without?” His tone is slightly teasing but his eyes are menacing and fearful.

“No,” Hari shakes his head, “I’m just having some trouble writing with quills still and Draco offered to take notes for me here so I can pay better attention.” Hari turns back to Professor Snape, allowing him to pick back up where he left off.

At the end of the dreadful lesson, Draco waves his wand in a complex pattern over his notes, saying, “_duplicare cumulatus.”_ A second set appears next to the first and he pushes them over to Hari, along with a quill and the ink. Hari quickly scrawls his name across the top—they both like to write in the margins while studying, so this keeps them from getting mixed up—and starts to put them into his backpack.

“Harry, I couldn’t help but notice how you’ve spelled your name, my boy. It is quite interesting. May I ask why you’ve spelled it that way?”

“Because…” Hari studies the man for a moment, trying to figure out what game he’s playing. “That’s how my name is spelled.”

“Ah, but that’s not what’s on your birth records.”

“It’s what’s at the foot of my bed and in all those horrid books about me and it’s how my name is spelled in the papers,” Hari glowers, “I’m pretty sure it’s how my name is spelled.”

Dumbledore seems a bit taken aback and tries to press on, but Severus stops him, saying, “Headmaster, if Hari wants to spell his name like that, then he has every right to do so.”

“I’m not arguing that, but it certainly does make it stand out more, and I’m not certain he wishes for that.”

“I don’t care to stand out, but I do prefer my name spelled this way, so I’ll continue as such.”

“Very well, my boy,” Dumbledore attempts a smile, but it falls short. “Goodbye for now.” And he scuttles from the room.

“That wasn’t ominous,” Theo grumbles. “I can see why you wanted me in on this. He was out of line.”

“He has some obsession with me,” Hari agrees.

“I’ve seen the birth announcements,” Professor Snape says, “in fact, I believe I still have one. It lists your name as you spell it now. I can’t imagine Lily would put anything other than the legal spelling on the announcement.”

“_Maa_ was straight-laced, then?”

“She was Head Girl,” Professor Snape confirms, “although she could hold her own in a fight and was rather ingenious at pranks. Didn’t get caught once.”

“She sounds Slytherin, to me,” Draco says.

“No,” Professor Snape shakes his head, “loathe as I am to admit it, Gryffindor was the place for her. She did well there. Slytherin would have stifled her.”

“Even though that’s where she met _Baba_?”

Professor Snape snorts, “I’ll tell you the whole story of how they ended up together someday. Even if I hated him, I can honestly say they really did love each other. He made her happy.”

Hari wants to ask when, how long he’ll have to wait, but thinks better of it. And it doesn’t matter if he would have asked or not when Professor Snape orders them off to bed for the night.

“_Galeru,_” Hari whispers when it seems the others have fallen asleep. The snake is curled on the pillow next to him in an instant.

Galeru flicks his tongue at Hari, saying, “_you smell scared._”

“_I am scared,”_ Hari admits, “_The reason Dumbledore puts up with me is about to disappear._”

“_Don’t mind the old man,”_ Galeru insists, “_he’s useless. Besides, didn’t you say you’d be able to push him out in one of your ‘years’?”_

_“I did. But that’s a lot of time.”_

_“How long have I been with you.”_

_“Four months. There’s twelve months in a year.”_

_“Ah,”_ Galeru pauses, seeming to deflate a little, “_well, this year can be used for planning.”_

Hari chuckles at that, “_That is a good point.”_ Maybe that’s exactly how he needs to think of this. He’s lucky he has to wait a year. It gives him plenty of time to study the laws and learn what he needs to know to hack it against Dumbledore.

_“I am quite wise, aren’t I, hatchling?”_ Galeru sways in a snake-y version of laughter and Hari giggles.

_“Terribly wise, Galeru. You really are.”_ Hari snuggles down into his pillow, “_Thank you.”_

“_You don’t smell scared anymore. That was my goal. Now you should sleep.”_

Hari smiles at the little snake he’s trying to bond to and does exactly that, dropping off to sleep in moments and, for once, it’s restful.

The next day is thankfully uneventful until they arrive to their politics lesson, where Lucius is waiting for them.

“Draco, Hari,” he smiles at the two of them, “well done yesterday.”

“Did you destroy it?” Hari asks.

“We did. The goblins were quite pleased.” Lucius shifts, looking more serious now, “there’s only one left and we need you two to let us handle it. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Father,” Draco agrees instantly.

“Yes, Lucius,” Hari says after a moment’s hesitation. Lucius takes a moment to study Hari’s face, but determines the answer to be honest despite the pause.

“Good,” he finally says and waves his wand to lift the chalk, “let’s begin where we left off last time. I believe we were discussing how addendums to laws are created.”

“You were using the addendum about toy wands as an example,” Theo informs him and the lesson begins. Lessons like these are the ones Hari enjoys, the ones where he learns how to make changes that could someday change the world.


	12. Detention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So book two only has one more chapter to write. I ended up with one section being unnecessary and that was going to add one or two chapters. I don't want to write unnecessary scenes that end up being boring, so I'm cutting them. Which leaves me with just the last chapter and that means book two will be twelve chapters and just over 40k words. My goal was 40k, so I'm pleased with that. You'll get the last chapter of this book tomorrow morning and the first chapter of book two likely in the evening.
> 
> This chapter has some Voldemort and some Dumbledore and heaps of good!Severus and good!Lucius. I like it but it also feels a little rushed(?). I don't know. This is where it needed to go chronologically and it hits all the events that it needs to for the chapter to work and I don't actually have anything bad to say about it, it just feels kind of 'meh' to me. Let me know your thoughts on it. Maybe I'll re-work it if you all think I need to. Minor violence warning. Nothing too drastic.  
~Mav

Hari and Draco are suffering under Quirrell’s stuttering once more in the last week of classes while maintaining a glaring contest with Weasley. It’s a relatively common occurrence since in this class, their seats are at a convenient angle for glaring someone down.

“M-Mr. P-P-P-Potter,” Quirrell stutters out, “wh-what c-c-can y-you t-tell us ab-bout th-th-these c-creatures?”

He’s clearly banking on the fact he thinks Hari hasn’t heard a word he’s said for the last twenty minutes, but Hari has. Unfortunately. So Hari tilts his head and rattles off a comprehensive depiction of it, its abilities, and how to handle it in real life. He has to drop the glare while he does, to maintain an innocent façade, but it’s worth it. Hari waits until Quirrell has moved on to a new topic to re-gain his glare and settle in for the rest of class.

There’s the sound of something shattering and then his name being called out, as if he was the one who broke whatever fell. He and Draco share an incredulous look, but all the Gryffindors seem smug and Quirrell obviously believes it was him. So Hari sighs, apologizes, and accepts the detention he is assigned.

“Hari,” Draco whines later, “why would you just take it like that?”

“The rest of us could see it wasn’t you,” Blaise agrees.

“From experience,” Hari sighs, “people like that won’t let you go, even if you are telling the truth.”

“All of this is beside the point,” Draco huffs, “you have to go tell Uncle Sev.”

“I know.”

“You cannot serve a detention with Quirrell.”

“I know.”

“Because—“

“Dray, I know,” Hari cries. “I was planning on informing Professor Snape as soon as we got down for extra potions. Besides, it’s not until tomorrow. That gives him plenty of time to convince Quirrell to let him take the detention.” The line would’ve been more believable if it didn’t sound like Hari was trying to convince himself of it, too. Draco eyes him warily.

Daphne interrupts before Draco can say anything, “it’s okay to be scared, you know.”

“What?” Hari stares at her, eyes wide.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but if you’re scared of Quirrell for some reason, it’s okay. It’s not a bad thing to be scared. Sometimes being scared can save your life.”

“When… when this is over,” Hari tells her, “when it’s all been handled, I’ll tell you why I’m scared of him, okay? We’ll tell you all everything.”

“Alright,” Daphne agrees.

“And I’m sorry we’ve had to keep secrets.” Pansy laughs as Hari says that.

“Don’t apologize,” she orders, “just keep your promise. Irritating as it is not being in on what is surely interesting gossip, we understand.”

“Sometimes,” Blaise throws his arm over Hari’s shoulder, “there’s things you’re not allowed to share. But you are telling us the minute you’re allowed to.”

“If not,” Daphne warns, “you won’t be forgiven.”

“We will,” Hari giggles, “we promise.”

“Hey, you can’t just make promises for me!” Draco yells at him.

“Would you want Pansy or Daphne to be mad at you?”

“Well…”

“Exactly.” Girls are scary.

After dinner, the group finds their way down to extra potions, where Professor Snape glares at Hari first thing.

“What on Earth possessed you to break the glass on a cabinet, Lordling Potter?”

“I didn’t!” Hari defends automatically.

“He really didn’t,” Draco agrees and the others echo his sentiments.

“I was sitting right behind him,” Blaise adds, “he didn’t even move from his seat. Quirrell just blamed him.”

“Well,” Lucius cuts in, “then it seems Quirrell is attempting to make a move.”

“Attempting being the key word,” Professor Snape murmurs, “I will be taking that detention from him.”

The next day, Professor Snape calls Hari up after potions.

“He wouldn’t let me take the detention and Dumbledore backed him up on it,” he says, “sorry, but you’ll have to put up with him.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“I’m sure you will, but in the event you’re not, take this.” Professor Snape hands him a small stone. “It has an alert charm on it. Keep it easily accessible and, if you need help or feel unsafe for any reason, tap it three times. Lucius and I will be here monitoring it.”

“Okay,” Hari agrees, sliding the stone into his pocket.

“Keep your wand handy, too, and don’t be afraid to defend yourself,” Professor Snape adds, “I know you’ve read ahead in Defense and are at least into the third year books. I also know you’re powerful enough to use those spells. Do it.”

“I will.”

“Lastly, this spell will create a shield that defends against physical and magical attacks. I developed it myself.” Professor Snape demonstrates the wand motion, a tight circle with a jab to the center. “Say ‘_tutella’_ and a golden glow should appear around you in a sort of bubble. Try.”

Hari mimics what Professor Snape had done and, on the third attempt, the bubble appears.

“Very good. It works better when you’re in danger, feeding off your adrenaline.” With a brisk ‘goodbye’, Professor Snape sends Hari on his way for dinner before having to endure Professor Quirrell.

“What did Professor Snape hold you back for?” Blaise asks at dinner.

“He wanted to let me know he wasn’t able to take my detention,” Hari explains, “and he gave me…” Hari almost gives away what was going on, but covers quickly, “advice for dealing with Quirrell. Should make sure I at least survive the hour.” The group laughs, but Draco’s is strained.

Draco grabs his arm when they start to leave, “what did Uncle Sev really give you?”

“An alert stone so if I’m in danger, I can let him know. And he taught me a shield spell he designed himself.”

“You’ll be safe, then?”

“Both he and your father are monitoring the alert charm,” Hari promises, “so I’ll be fine.”

“Good. But I’m going to be there, too.” Hari nods and tells Draco they’ll be in the potions room as usual, then makes his way up the stairs slowly, determined not to arrive early.

“Ah, M-Mr. P-Potter.” Quirrell appears just as Hari is reaching the door to the classroom. “C-come wi-with me, p-p-please.”

Quirrell leads Hari to his office on the third floor. There, he has Hari start writing lines—ones that say not to destroy other’s property. It’s a relatively easy punishment, in Hari’s mind, since he’s certainly endured worse. Quirrell sits, silently grading work at the front of the room, while Hari continues writing the same sentence over and over and over for forty-five minutes.

Suddenly, Quirrell puts the quill down.

“Th-this w-w-way, Mr. P-P-Potter,” Quirrell says. “I c-could u-u-use some help w-with s-something.”

“Okay,” Hari agrees slowly, trailing after Quirrell, who leads him across the third floor to the forbidden corridor. “Sir? We were told not to enter here.”

“Yo-you a-are with a-a t-t-teacher,” Quirrell waves it off. Hari supposes that’s true, but didn’t Dumbledore say not to enter unless you wish to die a ‘most painful death’? Hari shivers and his hands flex. One goes to the stone, ready to tap at any moment. The other positions itself to release his wand.

Quirrell swishes his own wand and music echoes through the corridor. Hari jumps. _Why music?_ But he’s not given an opportunity to guess when he’s pushed inside at wandpoint. There, a three-headed dog is settling it’s last head down to sleep.

“We’ll be going through the trap door,” Quirrell announces, stutter vanishing.

“What? No! If there’s that thing over it—“ Quirrell shoves him, forcing Hari to cut off. _If there’s that thing over it, then how dangerous is what’s inside?_

He taps the stone and spins to face Quirrell. Time to stall.

“I’m not going down there.”

“This is part of your detention.”

“I don’t care, I’m not going down there. It’s too dangerous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! That thing is guarding something and I’d be willing to bet whatever it’s guarding is far more dangerous.” Quirrell laughs at that.

“I know what’s down there, foolish boy,” Quirrell mocks him, “and I only need your help for two tasks. After that, you’re welcome to leave.”

Hari eyes him warily.

“What are the tasks?”

“I need you to catch a key—they’re charmed to fly as fast as a Snitch, you see. And then I need you to retrieve an item locked inside a mirror,” Quirrell smiles self-depricatingly. “I already know I cannot access it myself.”

“And what else is down there?” Quirrell snarls.

“Just go!” He reaches for Hari once more and Hari grabs his hand before he can touch him. Quirrel screams and smoke drifts from where their hands meet. Hari’s eyes go wide. So. That’s how he can escape this. Maybe if he injures Quirrell enough, he can run. He raises his other hand and reaches towards Quirrell’s face, pressing his palm flat over the largest area he can. It’s not as much as he would like, but Quirrell screams louder, thrashes in an attempt to get away, and falls to the ground. Hari presses his other hand to the other cheek and waits. The smoke starts rising and Quirrell’s skin starts to feel almost grain-y?

Lucius and Professor Snape run in.

Lucius whips his wand out, “_petrificus totalus phasma_!” The black spirit that had risen out of Quirrell freezes.

“Hari, come over here,” Professor Snape reaches for him. Hari hurries to hide behind him. “Cast the shield I showed you.” Professor Snape raises his own wand and they cast at the same time. Once they’re protected, Lucius sends a wave of Fiendfyre at the spirit. It screams for the barest instant and vanishes.

“That was him?” Hari whispers.

“It was.”

“He’s gone?”

Professor Snape watches Hari warily, “he is.”

“Good.” The adrenaline in Hari’s veins vanishes suddenly and he sways on his feet. “I feel dizzy.” And the world around him goes black.

“Hello, Hari, my dear boy,” Dumbledore smiles from the end of Hari’s bed. No, not Hari’s bed. Hari’s hospital bed. It’s covered in sweets—Hari can distinctly see four boxes of Draco’s favorite chocolates. _Brat,_ Hari thinks with a smile. Draco knows he’ll share and just wanted an excuse to buy the expensive sweet.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Hari nods politely. “What happened?”

“It appears Professor Quirrell was not Professor Quirrell,” Dumbledore states, like Hari’s stupid. “He was, instead, possessed by Lord Voldemort.” He watches for Hari’s flinch, but it never comes. Hari just stares. “When your mother died for you, her choice left a mark.” It takes all Hari’s self-control not to touch his scar. “Not a visible mark, but powerful in its own right. See, your mother chose to die for you and that decision offers powerful protection. You, being her blood, were saved from the person who killed her. Because of this protection, Professor Quirrell could not touch you. The protection caused great pain and harm because he intended to harm you.” Hari struggles not to roll his eyes. This explanation is like Hari needs it all spelled out for him.

“So, Voldemort is gone now,” Hari says, attempting to figure out how much Dumbledore knows about what went down.

“He is a wraith. He cannot hurt anyone as he is, but I daresay we shall see him again.” Dumbledore shakes his head like he’s disappointed, but Hari can see the twinkle in his eye. “After a full year, Hari, are you still certain Slytherin is the place for you? Your actions were very brave.”

“My actions were necessary,” Hari replies in a monotone, “I had detention. I went to detention. He attempted to force me through a trap door, so I grabbed him and forced him away, then fetched help. In what way is that brave?” Hari glares and, before Dumbledore can answer, continues, “I can see this is another hare-brained attempt to get me to re-Sort. You should know that I know that isn’t allowed. The school has rules for a reason, doesn’t it, Professor Dumbledore? No matter how people see me, those rules should not be ignored. No. I don’t want to be moved to Gryffindor. I love Slytherin. I have friends. I fit in there. And, most importantly, I’m not brave. I don’t value bravery. Gryffindor is definitely not the place for me.”

Dumbledore’s eyes darken, crackling with fire. Hari stares him down. Dumbledore’s hand tightens on the tray supporting Hari’s sweets.

“Dear boy,” Dumbledore starts, “I simply want what is best for you.”

“If you want what’s best for me, you won’t send me back to the Dursley’s for the summer.”

“They are your legal guardians, Hari,” Dumbledore shakes his head sadly, “you must go back. I’m certain they would miss you if you didn’t, especially since you’ve been away all year. Besides,” he smiles gently, “Petunia is your mother’s blood. By living in her house, you renew the protection.”

Hari huffs, but doesn’t argue. “Alright, if there’s no other option.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle, “there isn’t.” Hari’s eyes almost narrow, but he maintains composure.

“Do you know if there’s any way I could see my parent’s will? I’d be interested in meeting the other people they left things to,” Hari says, trying to come up with an excuse for seeing Sirius.

“You would need to have your aunt take you to Gringotts.” The twinkle gleams gleefully.

“What about Sirius Black? He was friends with my parents, right? And he’s been cleared of charges. Could I write him a letter?”

“I’m sorry, my boy, but he’s currently in St. Mungo’s, a hospital for wix, and they won’t allow letters through.”

_That_ Hari knows is blatantly untrue. Narcissa writes Sirius regularly and updates the boys on how he’s doing every week. Unfortunately, he hasn’t made as much progress as they’d been hoping for.

“Oh,” Hari says sadly, “I guess not, then. Isn’t there anybody else? I’d very much so like to know more about my parents.”

“I’m afraid not, my boy.” Dumbledore attempts to leave, but Hari realizes something.

“Professor? Does anyone know what happened?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore smiles and the stupid twinkle starts up again, “it’s a complete secret, so naturally, the whole school knows.”

“Not the details, I should hope,” Hari raises an eyebrow.

“No, not that Voldemort was involved, but that Professor Quirrell attacked you, yes. Of course, the rumors have only gotten more and more outlandish since,” Dumbledore chuckles.

“It is a boarding school,” Hari agrees, attempting to smile. “How long have I been here?”

“A few days,” Dumbledore says, shocking Hari. “Tonight is the Leaving Feast. I have exempted you from final exams in light of recent events. You also have earned 75 points for your House.”

“Thank you.”

“Why, of course,” Dumbledore grins. Hari knows, though, that any Gryffindor who had done what he had would have earned at least 100 points. Dumbledore shows rather blatant House bias, after all. The whole school knows. In fact, Hari bets a Gryffindor would have doubled his points earned and any Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would have gotten over 100. Especially since Dumbledore just hates Slytherin.

Then, Dumbledore is gone and Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne are running into the room.

“You’re okay!” Draco throws himself down onto the bed. He smothers Hari in a hug.

“Okay, give the boy some breathing space,” Blaise teases, tugging Draco up.

“He’s lucky I don’t kill him for that stunt!” Draco argues.

“Draco,” Professor Snape drawls from behind the group, “please don’t kill another student on school grounds. Especially not for events out of his control.”

“Was fainting out of his control?”

“Yes!” Blaise, Pansy and Daphne chorus. Draco pouts while Hari giggles.

“I’m alright,” Hari promises, “just came down from the adrenaline and collapsed.” He attempts to wave it off like it was nothing, but Professor Snape rolls his eyes and interrupts.

“You suffered magical exhaustion alongside stress from a fight-or-flight reaction,” he informs Hari. “You’ve been asleep for two days.”

There’s a long pause before Hari says, “Ah,” and the group laughs at him.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Draco whines and sits next to Hari on the bed. “Care to share some of your sweets?”

“After his check up,” Madame Pomfrey sweeps into the room, “off the bed, Mr. Malfoy, you know the rules.”

She waves her wand over him and hands him several potions, reprimanding him for allowing it to happen all the while. But, in her eyes, concern is written plain as day. So Hari lets her fuss, filling his tray with healthy foods in place of the sweets and making sure he drinks his shake. And when she leaves, he scooches over to make room for Draco and his box of chocolates.

“Mother’s coming later,” Draco announces. “Father’s bringing her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s worried about you, dummy,” Draco huffs, tugging on a strand of Hari’s hair.

“Oh,” is all Hari can manage and he takes another small piece of chocolate. He sees Draco’s hand start to lift to smack his away and smirks—Draco can’t, because this time, the chocolate is all Hari’s. Technically. He looks down to the end of his bed where the others are ‘investigating’ the every-flavor beans and ‘practicing’ catching chocolate frogs. And, of course, eating plenty.

“Yes, ‘oh’,” Draco rolls his eyes, “now shush and let me hug you. I was really worried.” Hari cuddles down into Draco’s shoulder and warm arms wrap around him.

“If I’ve been asleep for two days…”

“Yes?”

“That means tomorrow is the Leaving Feast?”

“It is.”

“I better be out of here by then,” Hari grumbles, “I’ve heard it’s the best dessert of the year besides holidays.”

Draco laughs, “you will be. Another night’s rest and you’ll be fine.”

“That is for me to determine, Mr. Malfoy,” Madame Pomfrey calls.

“Ears like a bat,” Blaise whispers and the group giggles when she looks over at them, almost as if she heard him.

There’s a knock on the door and Madame Pomfrey lets Narcissa in.

“Hari,” Narcissa hurries over and wraps him up in a gentle hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright. Lucius is furious and he’s talking with the Board of Governors now to figure out what they can do. You weren’t badly hurt, were you?”

“He wasn’t,” Professor Snape interrupts, “it’s just exhaustion.”

Narcissa huffs, “I’d say ‘good’, but it shouldn’t have happened at all in the first place, so it’s not.”

“Narcissa,” Hari tugs lightly at her sleeve, “tomorrow’s the Leaving Feast, which means we’re going home in two days. What ended up happening with my living arrangements?”


	13. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a severe lack of self control so this is being posted now. It's a little bit shorter than the other chapters and feels slightly like an epilogue to me. Short, sweet, to the point. It wraps the rest up, although no warnings apply to this one. Be sure to let me know how you like it!
> 
> On the upside, book two will be being posted once I wake up in a few hours. On the downside, this whole day has been an unhealthy slew of writing. I took one break. To eat. Once. So... hopefully I don't do that tomorrow. But as we can see, I have no self control. It'll probably happen again.
> 
> Don't mind me. I'm sure my roommate will steal my laptop before letting me die. Maybe.  
~Mav

The next day, Hari is allowed out of the hospital wing with just enough time to make it down to the Leaving Feast. He walks in, studying the green banners with awe and pride swelling in his chest. They’d done it, they’d won the House Cup. And the Quidditch Cup, but the House Cup was clearly more important.

“Oh, finally,” Daphne grins at him, “she let you out.”

“She did,” Hari agrees and takes the seat next to her.

“Did you see? We won!” Blaise points impatiently up at the ceiling.

“I did see,” Hari assures him, “it’s rather an overwhelming amount of green.”

“You can never have too much green,” Draco declares. The group stares at him.

“Oh, yes you can,” Hari argues, clamoring to be heard over the others, echoing his sentiments.

The feast appears after Dumbledore makes his end-of-year announcements and the food is, as always, divine. Hari even manages to eat more than usual.

“So,” Draco wraps an arm around his waist on their way to the dungeons, “Mother mentioned she’ll be giving you etiquette lessons this year.” The others groan.

“Are they that bad?” Hari asks.

“Well, they’re not exactly _fun_,” Draco says carefully.

“It’s better than what I’d be doing with the Dursleys,” Hari decides, not even needing to know what etiquette lessons entail to make that decision.

“Everything is better than that!” Blaise cries.

“What even are etiquette lessons?”

“How to behave,” Blaise tells him.

“How to dress,” Daphne says.

“How to speak,” Draco adds.

“And how to dance,” Pansy finishes.

“Um…”

“That,” Draco snaps his fingers, “right there, Mother is going to drill that out of you.”

“Huh?”

“Just… Wait and see, it’s difficult to explain if you don’t know what etiquette means.” Hari sighs and gives in.

They spend one more night in the comfort of their first-year dorm and, as they leave in the morning, Hari pauses to look around.

“I’m going to miss this place,” he murmurs.

Blaise throws an arm over his shoulder and Draco takes his hand.

“It was a good room,” Blaise agrees, “but next year’s will be even better.”

“Come on,” Draco tugs his hand, “we don’t want to be late for the train.”

The train ride is bittersweet. On one hand, he probably won’t see them over the summer. On the other hand, he knows they’ll be there at the beginning of the year. Before they pull into King’s Cross Station, they change out of their uniforms. Hari pulls on a sleek black button-down and trousers with shining shoes. With his sleeves rolled over his elbows and a shining blue tie knotted neatly around his neck by Draco, he looks nothing like the boy who left last year. Daphne helps him pull his hair back into a tight, messy bun, snapping the elastic on with perfect timing, as the train grinds to a halt.

“Got your bag?” Draco asks and Hari nods, hefting the small bundle for everyone to see. It contains a single set of pajamas and one set of robes.

“Showtime, then,” Pansy grins. It’s not her happy grin, but rather the one she gets when she’s thinking about violence. Over the breaks, she would twirl a knife through her fingers alongside the expression.

“We’re not killing them,” Blaise chides.

“Blaise is right, Pansy,” Daphne sets a hand on the taller girl’s shoulder, “we still need them.”

“Let’s go find Mother and Father.” All the other children would be brought home by Draco’s parents for a week-long sleep-over. Hari suspects it’s really going to be a gossip and rant session particularly targeted towards his relatives, but he doesn’t mind. So long as no murders actually take place, they can rant all they want. But for now, Daphne’s right. They need the Dursleys alive and out of prison.

“There you are, dears,” Narcissa smiles at the group. She takes her time giving them each a hug, but clutches Hari and Draco to her chest for far longer than the others. “Hari, you remember what we discussed, right?”

“I remember,” Hari promises.

“And how long of a ride is it from here to the house?” Lucius is frowning.

“Only a half an hour.”

Lucius sighs, “I wish it weren’t necessary.”

Hari shrugs and Narcissa taps his shoulder gently, “don’t shrug, it’s uncouth.” Hari stares up at her with wide eyes and the others snigger around him.

“Let the lessons begin,” Draco laughs.

“As much as I’d like to put this off,” Lucius snaps them all back to the present, “we did promise not to cause them any hassle.”

“They should be this way.” Hari leads the group through the barrier and to a bench, where Uncle Vernon is, indeed, waiting. The large man and boy behind him stare at Hari as if they don’t recognize him. Which is fair, after all. They’ve only ever seen him tiny, afraid, and dressed in rags.

“You remember the terms?” Lucius demands, staring down the bridge of his nose at the muggle.

“Yes, yes, drive him to the house and allow him inside and upstairs. He will step through a door and we won’t see him again until September first, when he will come out at nine thirty for us to drive him back here.”

Dudley shifts uncomfortably behind Uncle Vernon and Blaise turns an icy glare on him. Dudley’s eyes go wide and he scampers back to the car, scooching to the far seat.

“Not a single word to him the drive back, are we clear?” Narcissa snaps.

“Behave as if he isn’t in the car, yes.”

“And if Dumbledore asks…” Lucius prompts.

“We inform him that the boy spent the summer studying, doing his homework, and reading the next term’s books, all at our house.”

“Very well.” Lucius turns to Hari. “Go on. I will see you for your first lesson tomorrow at two.” He pats Hari gently on the shoulder and steps back.

Narcissa wraps Hari into one more hug, “I will see you tomorrow at nine and I’ll have your trunk and Hedwig with me. Be strong for the drive.” She presses a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“I will. See you tomorrow,” Hari squeezes her tight, stomping the fear that tries to rise.

Daphne takes Narcissa’s place, clutching him so tight he almost can’t breathe. Pansy is next, then Blaise, all promising to see him September first, to write tons of letters, and send birthday gifts.

Draco steps forward last, pressing Hari tight to him, and settling his head atop Hari’s.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers, “and if they manage to try anything in this one half hour, you tell me, and we’ll destroy them.”

“I will, I promise. I’ll miss you, too.”

“And don’t forget about Critter. You can call for him.”

“Thank you.” Whether for the advice or all the help this year, Hari isn’t sure. All that matters is that when he steps away and gets into the car, he isn’t scared. He’s moved up from cupboard, after all.


End file.
